The Offbeats
by landslide-state-of-mind
Summary: Someone's been writing about New Directions and making a fortune. Rachel is angry, and Santana goes looking for the author. Eventual Quintana, with mentions of Santana/OFC, Brittana. Rating mostly for Santana's trucker mouth.
1. Chapter 1

Santana Lopez rolled over, eyes still not quite opening and smacked at her bedside table until she managed to hit the alarm. The redhead in the bed beside her stirred but didn't show signs of movement, so she quietly struggled out from under the quilt and headed to the kitchen. She had a busy day ahead of her, and knew that unless she got at least one coffee in before she left the house, the day would go to hell. She put the coffee pot on, and checked her emails while she waited. She had two from the office, even though she'd only left at seven last night, reminding her to pick up boarding passes before she left, and the second reminding her that she had to get the new intern she was scheduled to pick up to sign a travel waiver before getting on the plane.

She poured two cups of coffee and heard Alana padding in to the kitchen behind her. Santana raised an eyebrow and clicked on an email from Rachel Berry. She didn't stay in touch with anyone from back home, but Rachel emailed her constantly, she was pretty sure everyone got the same email. She was kind of a big deal, Broadway speaking, and more than one of Santana's girlfriends had been interested to learn she used to share a stage with The Rachel Berry. But she had graduated high school, waited around in Lima until the day Quinn was released from hospital after her car accident, and then packed up her car overnight. She'd seen a lot of some of them for the first few years, til the thing with Brittany happened. Since then, it had pretty much been email only, and that included today's message from Rachel. Only it was different than the others she was used to.

_Santana,_

_Hi, hope you're well. Just a quick note, click on the link below. Take a guess what a friend of ours has been doing. I won't ruin it for you, but I swear on Barbra's god-forbidden grave, I'm going to kill her. You really should try and get to Manhattan one of these days, not so much for me, but I know Blaine kind of misses you._

_Rachel_

Santana clicked on the link and it took her to an Amazon page. An author's page, more correctly, the subject of which had written three in a series of six expected young adult novels called The Offbeats. She read the blurb.

_The Offbeats traces a misfit group of kids in average suburbia who start a show choir to try and increase their social standing at school, as well as find a sense of belonging. Despite being from a number of different backgrounds, the teens come together and learn to accept one another through some of the joys and hardships of high school._

Santana checked the author's name. Lucy Beaumont.

"Quinn motherfucking Fabray," she muttered, and Alana stepped around the counter.

"Teen reading?" she said. "The Offbeats is really popular, half the kids in my class are reading it." Alana taught eighth grade English. "Book three just hit the top of the Young Adult Bestsellers list."

"I'm pretty sure these books were written by an old friend of mine," Santana said. "At least, Rachel seems to think so. She's pretty pissed."

"Why?"

"I guess I'll have to read the books to find out," Santana said. "But I'm 99 percent sure my friend Quinn Fabray wrote them."

"The author's name is Lucy Beaumont."

"Quinn's real first name is Lucy and her mother's maiden name is Beaumont," Santana explained. "It sounds like she's making a fortune off of writing about our high school days."

"Hell, maybe I should read the books," Alana said. "Might fill in some of the gaps that you leave." Santana didn't talk about herself much, and even after six months of dating, Alana pushed the issue a lot, and they fought about it.

"Yes," Santana said shortly. She drained her coffee. "Anyway, I better move my ass, I have to go into the office before I fly out."

"I can't believe you're going to be gone til next Friday," Alana pouted.

"Longer," Santana said. "The following Tuesday, remember? Friday I fly from Boston to Seattle, Saturday I have to meet a client, Monday I fly to Maryland to pick up the intern Tuesday morning, and then back home."

"That's the fourth trip longer than a week you've taken in three months," Alana sighed. The fact that Santana frequently flew out of Chicago on business the second most common reason why they fought. Mostly it was domestic, but occasionally she had flown to London. Santana liked fighting about as much as she liked talking about Lima, and normally refused to engage.

"It is," she said.

"Can't you ask them to find you more local work?" Alana asked.

"I'm the deal closer," Santana said. She worked for a marketing firm, and she was their top deal broker. "They send me where they need me. You know I love my work, don't ask me to give it up." She winced, knowing what was coming.

"But don't you want to spend more time with me?" Santana bit her lip. She liked Alana, a lot. They'd met through a colleague of Santana's, and straight away she'd admired the woman's bluntness and ability to swear in both English and Greek with equal measure. The sex was great, and she liked having her around, but the redhead was dropping more and more hints about moving in, and other future type plans that Santana couldn't envision. Her dad had once said to her, 'If you have to think about whether you love someone or not, you don't love them. Because if you do, there's nothing to think about.' And she was pretty sure she didn't love Alana. So they'd fight, and she'd fly out, and the day she flew back in, Alana would be sitting on her doorstep with a bottle of pinot, and things would carry on.

"You know I dig you," Santana said. "But you also knew what I did for a living before you even met me. It's not fair to be mad at me for something you had foreknowledge of." Alana just sort of stared at her.

"I think I better go," she said. "Have fun in Boston. And Seattle and Maryland." She didn't kiss her goodbye, just pulled her sweatshirt from the couch and grabbed her bag and left. Santana shook her head. She had never been stellar in the relationship department, and it was probably because she had no interest in disclosing much personal information about herself. She sighed and headed for the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana's regular secretary didn't work weekends. Saturdays and Sundays she shared a secretary with three other colleagues, a bright and efficient woman named Priya. When Santana walked up to Priya's desk, she put a soy latte down for her, and took the folders from her outstretched hand.

"Good morning Priya," she said.

"Santana," Priya said. "Mr Mellor wanted me to let you know that a car will arrive here to take you and Warner to the airport at two. Warner is picking up six interns in the next eight days."

"Lucky bastard," she joked. The marketing firm she worked for hired interns at the drop of a hat, signed them all on ninety-day contracts and promised them that if they made the cut, they'd never have to look for work. It was generally true, but they did have to sift through a lot of average employees to find a good one.

"You're picking up the one, and Jake is picking up three, so it looks like next Wednesday, we have ten new interns."

"And I hope to god that my assistant is among them," Santana said. The boss had recently signed off on her hiring an assistant through the intern program, and Santana was looking for someone who could keep up the pace.

"You still have me in the meantime," Priya smiled. Santana had tried to get Priya to think about the internship, but the woman was adamant that she was happy to work weekends, not the insane hours Santana worked, and it left her week free for study.

"Good to hear. If any of these interns can organize a flight and meeting schedule for eleven days half as well as you, I might cry," she said, taking the files into her office. She perused them and found them to be exactly what she expected. Contracts, a merger proposal, an intern travel waiver and personnel file for a kid named Dean Morris, and a travel itinerary. She busied herself with some paperwork until one, and then ducked across the street to the deli, where she picked up a quick lunch. Warner Hayes, a colleague, was waiting outside her office for her.

"Looks like we're riding together," he said. "But I'm pretty convinced I got the raw end of this deal."

"I'll say," Santana said. "Six interns? God I'm glad that's not me. Any of them look any good?"

"Um, maybe two. One is a definite; she'll end up in digital division. She's been working on social networking as a marketing tool for six years, got some impressive study behind her. The other, well, it depends on how well his work performance matches his resume. He reads very well, but we could end up with another Woodcomb."

Jessica Woodcomb was an intern who had come in with a fantastic CV, and a list of recommendations longer than her arm. But she'd walked in and pretty much demanded to be catered to, thought herself above everyone in the building, and made half the secretaries on their floor want to quit. When Mellor and Caulfield had called her in, she'd suggested that they should probably choose between them or her, and they'd kicked her out without hesitation. Nobody could replace the secretaries in their company, and every single one of them knew it. You could piss a couple off, maybe just not get along with them, as is bound to happen occasionally. But Jessica had somehow managed to piss them all off, sixteen of them to the point where they wanted her gone.

"My guy reads okay," Santana said. "Young though, so there might be an advantage in breaking him in to the way I do things."

The driver pulled up and Warner put all the bags in the trunk, even when Santana insisted she could lift her own luggage. He was a bit of an old school gentleman, held doors open for people, that sort of thing. The ride wasn't long to the airport, and Warner pulled their luggage back out and they separated, Santana heading toward the check in counter for her flight. She vaguely recognized the man who checked her in, probably because she was here almost every week, and set off toward the gate. She stopped for a bottle of water and a coffee, and on a whim, stopped in a bookstore. She glanced around and saw two young girls reading by a shelf, and surreptitiously walked toward them. They had some trashy vampire romance novels, but they were only a few steps away from The Offbeats.

She picked up the first book and read the back. Definitely Quinn. It was basically a giant McKinley rip-off. She picked up the second and third books as well, and handed them to the cashier.

"Present for someone?" he asked innocently.

"Uh, yeah," Santana lied. "Niece." She took the books and stashed them in her carry on bag, and walked down to the gate.

Her flight wasn't long, and she was soon in Boston, checking in to her hotel. She didn't have anything work related to do until the next day, so she figured she would have a hot shower, order some room service and start reading. She called for room service before getting in the shower, and by the time she'd gotten out and dressed herself in the thick complimentary robe, the food had arrived. She ate her lamb cutlets and vegetables while reading the first two chapters.

She could see why Rachel was pissed. On paper, Quinn had basically immortalized their glee club. Not true to life, not exactly, some characters were merges of a couple of people, some were a little exaggerated. The character Santana was assuming had been based on Rachel was rude, obnoxious, self-promoting, dismissive and demanded to be the center of attention at all times. It made Rachel sound like a monster, reading it through.

All true, though, at one point or another. Rachel was blunt and dismissive. She'd bailed on glee to do Mr Ryerson's musical when she hadn't got her own way. She sent Sunshine Corazon to a crack house instead of the auditorium when she realized she might have some competition. She had also run against Kurt as senior class president when she thought she was going to lose the lead in West Side Story to Mercedes, even if she did pull out, and they were best friends. She was always ruthless.

Someone reading the book without knowing anyone from New Directions would think this kind of group would be pure fiction, but Santana could see every one of them in the group in the books. The goofy jocks, the bad boys, the cheerleaders, the divas, the musical nerds, the shy kids, the gay kids. The good hearted teacher, the insane faculty rival. She recognized her own character about halfway through. A bitchy no-nonsense girl, quick to insult everyone around her so they don't know she's in love with a girl. It was awkward to read about herself like that on paper, and she finally realized how Rachel must see this books. It was like having everything about herself laid bare. She wasn't even that person any more, but if someone read that, they'd presume to know everything about her. Alana would get all the details she was after.

Then there'd be the conversation about the first time she fell in love with a girl, and the first time a girl broke her heart, and what happened after that. The things she'd fucked up beyond all recognition. And that was a conversation she was not interested in having. She read about three quarters of the book before going to bed, slightly uneasy about how much of herself was in the text.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Santana finished off the first book before she had to go to her lunch meeting. She spent several hours arguing details of a marketing and advertising merger, and got the signatures she was after. She politely declined an invitation to dinner from one of the merging company's attorneys, and retired back to the hotel. She had back-to-back meetings with advertising and marketing staff all week, and wanted to relax while she could. She paid for a massage on her own credit card, picked up some egg rolls and a couple of longnecks and kicked back on the balcony of the hotel room, reading the second book. Halfway through she closed it. She went inside and made a pot of coffee. She poured a mug and went back outside. She opened the book again, flipped it backwards about two chapters and re-read them.

It was the story of how Ellie came out of the closet. Or, rather, she was unceremoniously tossed out. The book wasn't from Ellie's point of view, but from another character named Casey who served as a kind of omniscient narrator, but Santana felt like it was probably the Quinn character. There were hints that Casey had some major shit going on, but nothing had been revealed yet. Casey, in the two chapters she was reading, was incensed at the way Marcus had just outed Ellie to the entire student body with absolutely no ramifications whatsoever. She drew parallels to how hard Marcus's teammate and best friend Seth had it when he came out, and how no-one even blinked an eyelid when Ellie was outed as a lesbian at a pep rally.

Santana didn't think she harbored bitter feelings toward Finn this far on, for outing her to pretty much everyone in Ohio. But reading how defensive Casey got of Ellie made her wonder if maybe she did. She hadn't thought it such a big deal, but looking back, Finn had outed her without a care in the world, acting like he'd done her a favour and after all the crap with Kurt, he really should have known better. She stopped at the same place she had gotten to before and picked up the book and her mug and went inside. She wanted to talk to Quinn. She pulled her laptop out and emailed Rachel.

_Rachel,_

_She certainly has been busy. I'm halfway through number two. I think Q and I need to have a conversation. Any idea where I can find her these days?_

_Santana_

She turned in for an early night and read more about the supposedly fictional teens of Campbell Valley, Minnesota.

Two days of marketing briefing passed in a flurry before Santana got a response from Rachel. She got the email notification on her phone as she was sliding into a cab. The email contained a phone number for Quinn's agent, an email address for the same agent, and then under the words _You didn't get these from me_, a cell phone number and a phone number with an area code for Seattle, Washington. Fate, maybe. She was scheduled to be in Seattle in just a few days.

She got back to the hotel to change and grab something to eat before some drinks with some of the people she'd been working with over the past couple of days. In between zipping her boots up, she dialed Quinn's cell on the spur of the moment.

"Hello?" Santana balked. She hadn't expected the blonde to pick it up.

"Is this Lucy Beaumont?" she said.

"No," the voice replied effortlessly. "I'm sure you have the wrong number."

"Oh, sorry," Santana replied. "What if I said that you probably go by Quinn Fabray?"

"Who is this?" she said.

"Ellie fucking Michaels," Santana said.

"Santana." She didn't sound particularly happy or unhappy to hear from her.

"Nailed it, Q. You sound good. Speaking of which, written any good books lately?" There was a long pause.

"You've read the books?"

"I'm halfway through book two," Santana confessed. "I'm pretty sure you can figure out where I'm up to."

"Oh," Quinn said. She didn't offer any other conversation on the matter. "It's good to hear from you. What have you been doing?"

"Working," Santana said. "Marketing and advertising deal broker. I'm based in Chicago, I'm in Boston right now, and come Friday I'll be in Seattle." Quinn didn't say anything. "I want to talk, Quinn."

"How do you know I'm in Seattle?" Quinn asked.

"Berry," Santana said. "I gotta tell you, this Offbeats thing has her seriously pissed. She comes off like a megalomaniacal asshole with delusions of grandeur. I'm much more pleased with how Ellie is written, though I'm curious to know how much more of my life I'm going to read about in these books."

"It's fiction," Quinn said. "Read the disclaimer." Santana laughed.

"I work in advertising and marketing, Q. Your disclaimer means dick. You and I both know full well that you're pretty much writing New Directions. You pretty much owe me a glass of wine or two."

"When are you getting in?" Quinn asked softly.

"Friday, early morning. I'm clear after lunch and have a meeting Saturday, then I have Sunday off before I fly out to Maryland on Monday night," Santana said.

"Lunch Sunday wouldn't be such a bad idea," Quinn said. "Call me when you get in and I'll pick a time and place." She hung up the phone without any kind of farewell whatsoever. Santana raised her eyebrows at the disconnected cell, and then tossed it onto her bed before zipping up her other boot. She smoothed her skirt down as she stood, and checked her purse for her essentials. She picked up the cell and stuffed it in the bag, double checking her wallet for the door card key, and locked it behind her.

She met the others in a bar about a block away from her hotel. She had found them to be a pretty competent and likeable bunch, and had decided to stray from her normal routine of declining all social activities while on the road. They all sat grouped around a table and drank wine and traded stories about clients and bosses from hell. As the night wore on, she found herself sitting next to a well-groomed young man named David, who had a reputation as a demographics guru. He ordered a glass of Shiraz for them each, and they chatted a bit.

"So," he said. "I hope I'm not being forward, but I'm sure you have a hotel room nearby."

"You are being forward, and you're also not getting an invite," Santana said.

"Hey, I know you're not in town long, that's not to say we can't have a good time while you're here."

"David…" Santana said. She turned to face him. "I can only make this clear in one way. I'm happy to sit here and drink wine with you. You're a pretty good guy, from what I can tell. But I'm gay, so there's not a chance in hell of you getting a pass into the hotel tonight."

"You're gay?" he said. "But you don't… seem gay."

"Oh, I am," Santana said. She pulled her cellphone out and showed him a picture of herself and Alana. "That's my girlfriend Alana." She didn't know how true that was right now, because Alana hadn't called or texted, and it had been a few days. Normally she barely made it off the plane without getting texted. David held up a hand.

"In that case, I apologize, and I'll order another round," he said.

"Actually, make mine coffee," Santana said. "I don't like to drink so much while I'm working. Since I won't be home til Tuesday, I can't really afford a hangover."

"You travel a lot," David observed. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," Santana said. "I mean, the schedule is insane, and sometimes I forget which god damn city I'm in, but I've seen so much of the country, experienced the culture in just about every city."

"What are your favorite places?"

"New Orleans, definitely on the list. It just had the best atmosphere, and the food made me want to eat myself into an early grave. It would have been worth it. Portland had some good music stores."

"You don't strike me as someone who would be into music," David said.

"Isn't everyone into music?" she said. "I like all kinds of music. Pop, rock, R&B, jazz, classic stuff like Carole King and Fleetwood Mac, I like Broadway, I like it all."

"Broadway? You are gay," David said.

"Oh come on," Santana said, laughing. "Though I do know a few Broadway stars personally."

"Oh really," came another voice. It belonged to Marion, a lower level marketing copy writer. "Like who."

"Like… Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry." Marion smacked the table.

"You do NOT!"

"Uh, I do. We went to high school together, sang in show choir together, and I've been to see them both in shows before." She pulled out her cell and brought up and old photo of herself, Rachel, Kurt and Blaine. "That's us drinking at the Old Emory after Rachel closed Funny Girl."

"Wow," Marion said. "If you sung with those guys, why are you here?"

"I sang with them, but I wasn't like them. Nobody does theatre like Kurt and Rachel. I love to sing, whatever, but I also really love doing this. I meet new people almost every day, see the country and I get what I'm aiming for almost a hundred percent of the time," Santana said. The conversation turned from theatre into movies and then into which movie stars people would or would not sleep with, at which point Santana decided to call it a night. She took up the offer of an escort back to the hotel, and bid the young man farewell in the lobby. She went upstairs and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge that she had put there earlier and drank the whole thing whilst removing her makeup. She climbed in to bed and finished the second book off before she fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Santana didn't get much of a chance to continue reading until the Friday, after she landed in Seattle. She was definitely starting to feel the effects of the week, and having lunch with Quinn or not, she was looking forward to Sunday as a flight-free, meeting-free day. She checked in to the hotel and dumped her things, heading straight for the bath. She ran the water as hot as she could stand and settled in to relax. She heard her message tone and half debated getting out of the bath, but ignored it. Then it went off twice more. She chided herself for not turning the damn thing on silent. She only managed a few more minutes before pulling the plug on the bath, and going to check her messages.

All three were from Alana, spaced a couple of minutes apart.

_San, are you there? I think we should talk._

_San? I know your flight landed, call me back so we can talk._

_Jesus Santana, this is precisely the sort of thing we need to talk about. Call me back god damn it._

Santana rolled her eyes and put the phone down. It almost immediately rang again, and she snatched it up, not even looking at the caller ID.

"Jesus fuck, Alana, I was taking a fucking bath," she exploded.

"I'll be sure to pass the message on," came a cool voice.

"Shit, Q, sorry. I was just-"

"Taking a bath," Quinn said. "Who's Alana? Girlfriend?"

"Sort of. I don't think so, not any more. Maybe," she said.

"Well, as long as you're clear on the matter," she said, chuckling. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to that whole _Alana_ situation in a minute. I just remembered you were supposedly free after lunch today, and I happen to be in the city seeing my publisher. I know we were going to try and make lunch on Sunday, but if you're not busy for dinner I know a great place that does teppanyaki."

"That sounds great," Santana said. "I hadn't really thought about dinner options yet."

"Where are you staying?" Quinn asked.

"The Pan Pacific," Santana said.

"I'll pick you up at seven," Quinn said. "Have fun with _Alana._" She kept saying her word with a certain enunciation. She hung up, again without any warning. Santana shook her head, and got half dressed, figuring she'd just kill time before dinner. As she pulled her jeans up, her phone beeped again. Alana.

_Last chance, Santana. Call me back._

Santana half wanted to not call Alana and just let it die, but she figured six months of whatever they had been doing probably deserved a conversation if it was going to be over. She dialed Alana, and decided to use a less confrontational tone than the one she had accidentally used with Quinn.

"I was taking a bath," she said evenly. "I didn't expect that it would end in an ultimatum."

"I've been waiting for you to call for almost a week," Alana said. "I'm always the one who calls you and apologizes, I'm the one who shows up on your door, waiting for you to get off a flight."

"Why would I call? You were the one who got shitty and bailed."

"Says the girl in Seattle," Alana replied dryly.

"Don't even start that bullshit again," Santana said. "I'm working. It's not the same fucking thing, and you know it. You hate that I'm out of town. We both know that. But I'm not giving up this job for you, and I don't think you like that, and that's the real problem here."

"Is that the problem, or is it the fact that you don't care about me enough to want to hang around in Boston for more than three days at a time?" Alana said.

"I think we've reached a point of no return," Santana said. "Because I won't change for you, and you won't let me be."

"What do we do now?" Alana said. "I don't know if I'm ready for this to be over."

"We were good, Alana. Fucking great, even."

"Sometimes good isn't good enough," Alana sighed.

"Are you sure this is what we want?" Santana said.

"I'm sure it's not," Alana said. "But it's probably what we need." They both paused. "I'll get all my stuff and leave your key on top of the microwave. This really sucks."

"It does," Santana said.

"Well… see you around, Santana." Alana hung up the phone. Santana was a little bummed, not completely torn apart, but she definitely felt a sense of loss. She shrugged, grabbed her sunglasses and purse and decided to go for a wander through the nearby streets. She ended up in a Starbucks with a couple of bags at her feet, stuff she definitely didn't need, but she figured post-break up shopping was probably a thing.

She went back to her room, opened her laptop to check her email. One from the office with an update for tomorrow's meeting. One from Alana. It looked like she had gotten in and out of the apartment almost straight away.

_San_

_Grabbed my stuff. Still have your Bears hoodie, I should really wash that before I give it back to you. I'll drop it at your office Monday. _

_A._

She half wanted to tell Alana to keep it, but she knew for a fact she was the kind of girl that liked to do away with all mementos of previous relationships. She seemed surprised when Santana still had a copy of 1Q84 inscribed by an old girlfriend, and ticket stubs from a Fleetwood Mac show that another had taken her to. She reasoned that the book was good, and Fleetwood Mac was something she wanted to remember forever. She didn't understand the whole separating of stuff thing, even if a relationship failed, there were still good things to remember about them. Kara had seen the book and known Santana had wanted to read it, so bought it for her on a whim. The Fleetwood Mac had been a surprise for Santana's 25th birthday, and she and Penny had been together for a year, the same weekend.

Santana shook those thoughts from her mind as she started to get ready for dinner with Quinn. She was a little nervous, she and Quinn hadn't seen each other in years, not since _it_ happened. But the books, the fact that they were in the same city by chance, it seemed like if there was ever going to be an opportunity to talk to the girl, it would be now. She headed down to the lobby at exactly seven, and she saw her sitting in an easy chair out of the way.

Time had been kind to her. She had always been beautiful, but the years had added some maturity to the way she presented herself. She looked fantastic from across the lobby, but when she was standing next to her she could see that her eyes held the look of someone who had seen some hardship. Quinn stood up and smoothed invisible wrinkles from her dress. They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, Quinn eventually stepping forward to press a kiss to Santana's cheek.

"Santana," she said. "You look fantastic."

"I could say the same about you, Q," Santana said honestly. "So, where's dinner at?"

"It's not far away," Quinn said, "and since it's not raining, miracle of miracles, I thought we'd walk."

"Whatever you like," Santana said, and held the door open.

"How did things go with Alana?" she asked as they walked out onto the footpath.

"They ended," Santana said bluntly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Quinn said. "Were you together long?"

"About six months, but we fought a lot, normally about me not being in Chicago much, or wanting to talk about Lima. It blows, but you know… We had our good bits, but our bad bits were just that much bigger. Better we broke up now before we got too invested in it."

"And work brings you to Seattle?"

"It does. Wells and Harrison are going to sign with us tomorrow, and I was sent here to close it."

"In one day?"

"In one day. We've been video conferencing this one for months, and we could always fax or email the contract, but my bosses still prefer to send a real person when it comes to contracts. And most of the time, they send me. I haven't been home in a week."

"Where have you been?"

"Boston," Santana replied. "We signed a huge merger with our marketing firm and another company's advertising division, and I was handling the transition. Monday I fly to Maryland, Tuesday I pick up an intern and we fly back to Chicago."

"Wow," Quinn said. "You must either really love or really hate your job."

"Love," Santana said firmly. "I work with good people, I love what I do. I'll love it even more if I can turn one of these interns into my assistant."

"Santana Lopez, corporate bigwig," Quinn said "I never would have thought it."

"Well, who would have picked Quinn Fabray, best-selling author?" Santana said. "Sorry, Lucy Beaumont." Quinn blushed.

"So you've started reading the books," she said. "Do you want to kill me as much as Rachel does?"

"No," Santana admitted. "It's kind of perverse reading about us like that, but I'm invested now." Quinn pointed to a doorway and held a soft conversation with the greeter. Santana wondered if she did everything at half volume. He showed them to a table toward the back.

"I hope you don't mind," Quinn said. "Normally they'd bring a hotplate out and cook at the table, but I figured if we actually want to have a conversation, it might just be easier if they bring us food."

"Do you come here a lot?"

"I do," Quinn said. "The food is fantastic. The chef has a way with duck."

"Fair enough," Santana said. "You order, I eat whatever, as long as I can't see its eyeballs."

"What?"

"You know, I'll eat fish, but not if you serve a whole one with the head attached. Call me crazy, it's just too freaky to eat something that's staring at you, dead or not," she said. Quinn smiled, and a waiter appeared at the table.

"What can I get you tonight?" he said.

"We'll take the duck, the salmon, the house shrimp special and some eggrolls," Quinn said. Then, to Santana, "Red or White?"

"Red and just the one glass," Santana said, "I'm up early."

"Two glasses of whatever Merlot you think is best and some water," Quinn said. The waiter nodded and left them alone.

"Can I ask you how many of the others know about the books?" Santana asked.

"Well, it's safe to assume if Rachel knows, Kurt and Blaine know. If any of the others know, they haven't said anything about it," Quinn responded. The waiter brought their drinks. "I guess you want to know how it all started."

"Some insight wouldn't go astray," the other girl admitted.

"It was after… you know." Santana knew, so she just nodded. Clearly they weren't talking about that yet. "I don't know how much you've kept in contact with anyone else, so I'll just pretend you know nothing. I got depressed. Again. You remember my therapist, Michelle? I started calling her again, and went home to see her for a few days."

"Shit, Q."

"I didn't tell you that to make you feel bad," Quinn said. "It's not about that, it was about me. I've never really been able to keep a positive headspace, you know? Anyway, Michelle encouraged me to write about all the things I couldn't deal with, to help me handle them instead of ignoring them. I wrote little bits about being a girl, and my parents and whatever, but most of the stuff that was important was high school. I couldn't write about it, not yet. So I wrote about the other bits of high school, the funny stuff, the people I liked and loved. Michelle laughed her ass off. Eventually I wrote about the other stuff. The stuff with Puck, and Beth and Shelby, all of it. The accident, and the other thing."

"You let your therapist read it?"

"She said, psychology aside, she liked how I wrote. So I wrote a short version of the first book and submitted it to a writing competition. They called and asked if I was interested in a book series, and that was that."

"That's a hell of a thing."

"Do you want to know the funny part?" Quinn said. "The character Rachel's convinced is about her…"

"It is her."

"The publisher told me that the character might be unbelievable and that kids like that didn't exist in high schools."

"Shit, at our school we had two. Berry _and_ Hummel."

"Exactly what I said. So I compromised and combined them into Harriet, added parts of Kurt to Seth as well, and made a few concessions with the diva behavior." She paused. "Are you angry?"

"I don't think so," Santana said. "I don't know how similar I am to that girl any more, anyway. But you know, it would have been considered common decency to give us a heads up before this shit went best seller."

"I didn't ever think it would do so well," Quinn said slowly. The waiter appeared with eggrolls and shrimp. "I did feel bad, and I actually donated a bunch of money to McKinley for the arts program. Anonymously. I didn't want Mr Schue to know. And if it makes you feel any better the stories are going to stray, I think, for the last half of the series."

"Can I ask you some more questions, in the interest of fairness?"

"Sure."

"You've talked plenty about all our deep dark secrets, but what about yours?"

"Book four." Quinn stopped eating. "I'm still writing it, and it's due at the editors in about two weeks. It's been the hardest to write for obvious reasons."

"Is it going to end with graduation? Because there are things that follow graduation that I don't think everyone needs to know, even if you stray a bit." Quinn met Santana's gaze.

"It will end with graduation," Quinn confirmed. "Because of a lot of things. Are we going to talk about those things?"

"If you want to."

"I think it might be a less public conversation, so maybe Sunday. You can come see my place, I'll cook. But I think we definitely should."

"We probably should have talked about it then," Santana said, blushing. "Not that either of us were going to do that." The waiter brought the mains out, and they got distracted with the food. Conversation drifted to Santana's work, and what Chicago was like. They finished up and paid the bill and walked back toward the hotel.

"I just have one more question," Santana said. "Book two."

"Okay," Quinn said softly.

"Do you really think Finn's outing me was that big a deal?" Quinn tucked her hands into her cardigan pockets. They walked a while longer while Quinn mused on her answer.

"I think it was a much bigger deal than everyone made it out to be," she started. "I was so angry at him for doing that. When Kurt was coming out, everyone treated it like this big, personal deal. But Finn, even though he knew it was pretty much the defining moment of high school and your life, for that matter, he just tossed you out for the wolves. And he might not have _meant_ to out you to the whole of Ohio, but to me it didn't so much matter what the intent was. He turned an incredibly personal moment into statewide ammunition in a Congressional election." They reached the door to the hotel.

"Do you want to grab a coffee?" Santana said. "There's a café one floor up."

"Sure." They rode to the first floor in silence, and ordered coffees.

"I have to say," Santana said, "That until I read it in your book, I had no idea that you were outraged like that. I had no idea that anyone was outraged like that."

"But that was the point," Quinn said. "Nobody said a damn word to him about that. Nobody even flinched. So I reamed him out."

"You what?"

"I may have unloaded on him about it. He was really indignant about the whole thing, which just pissed me off more. I think I yelled at him for about fifteen minutes until Shelby walked in and I left. Am I sensing that you didn't see it the way I saw it?"

"I see it that way now," Santana said. "So even though it's like, almost ten years late, thanks. For sticking up for me. And putting an immortal reminder on paper that he might read one day and feel guilty about."

"You're welcome."

"Speaking of Shelby, how's Beth?"

"She's really good," Quinn said. "Wanna see a photo?" Santana nodded and Quinn pulled out her phone and brought up a picture of Beth with Puck.

"She looks just like you, with brown hair," Santana mused. "She's a cute kid."

"She is," Quinn sighed. "And she's very smart. Top of her class."

"Like I would ever have doubted your offspring to be a genius, even if Puck was the other donor," Santana said, earning a chuckle. "I can't believe the Puck and Shelby thing lasted." Puck and Shelby had fooled around in their senior year, but three years later, they'd gotten together again, and stayed together. It was a little weird to start with, with the massive age difference, but they actually made an adorable family.

"Puck's a great dad," Quinn said. "Some days I still get mad that they're off being a family, but then I remember that was my choice, you know. I'm Quinn, the kooky aunt who bakes muffins and sings while she cleans."

"Do you sing any more?" Quinn shook her head.

"You?" Santana just shrugged.

"Shower karaoke only," she said. "Though I won't lie, being able to serenade someone certainly helped with the ladies."

"And besides the recently departed Alana, anyone special?" Quinn asked.

"Not really. Only one who lasted longer than Alana was Penny, we were together about fourteen months, and she decided she'd rather marry for societal standing than tell her folks she was gay," Santana lamented. "And before you say it, yeah, that fucked me up good."

"I'm sure it did," Quinn said.

"You?"

"No," she replied simply. "I've been too busy with therapy, writing, I went to London for a while…"

"When did you go to London?"

"Two years ago. I stayed three months. It was gorgeous, and I managed to just be lost for awhile," she said, yawning. "It's late. I should call a cab?"

"Is it far to your place?" Santana asked. "Don't blow a fortune on a cab."

"It's not a fortune," Quinn said, "And since I came into the city to see my publisher, I can write it off as a tax deduction." She pulled a napkin over and grabbed a pen from her bag. She wrote her address down for Santana, in the same perfect cursive she always had. "Around noon on Sunday? I promise I won't cook anything with eyes attached."

"Sounds great," Santana said. "And Quinn?"

"Yeah?" she replied, getting to her feet.

"It was good to see you."

"You too, Santana." Quinn pressed a kiss on her cheek, the opposite one from before, and disappeared silently. Santana took the elevator back to her floor, and changed for bed. She lay awake for a while. The night had been pleasant. It had been a long time since she'd just enjoyed dinner with a friend who wasn't someone she worked with, or someone who wanted to sleep with her. She realized she'd probably been lonely for quite a while, and as she drifted to sleep decided she was glad Quinn wrote the books that pissed Rachel off.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Santana's meeting went as smooth as she had expected. She was out of the offices at two thirty in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day napping on the completely oversized hotel bed, reading book three of The Offbeats, and eating Mexican from a place recommended by the concierge. She woke early the next morning, feeling properly refreshed for the first time in a week. She ate a buffet breakfast and regretted it as much as she always did, because no hotel buffet makes decent eggs, which she admitted to herself she should really know by now.

Back in her room, she googled how far it was to Quinn's house, and found it wasn't particularly far at all, just out of the city. She didn't really have any casual type clothes in her suitcase, so she ducked out and bought a pair of jeans, a cardigan and a t-shirt to throw on for lunch at Quinn's. Then she decided she probably shouldn't show up empty handed, and brought a bottle of wine. After she checked her email and sent a few to the office in reply, she called a taxi and gave the driver Quinn's address.

He pulled up at a long, low house with a simple garden. It wasn't really what Santana had been expecting, but she paid the driver and got out. Quinn appeared in one of the front windows, so Santana knew she definitely had the right house. She walked up the path, and Quinn held the door open for her. She handed Quinn the wine and gave her a quick hug.

"Something smells unreal," she said.

"Lamb shanks," she said. "They'll be a little bit yet, they're slow roasting. Come on, I'll give you a tour." The house was quiet and intimate, not overly flashy. It was just like Quinn, a little bit hipster but completely unpretentious.

"Gorgeous place," Santana said, as they ended up in the kitchen.

"Thanks," Quinn said.

"Need help with anything?"

"No, not really," she replied. "If you want to pour some wine, there are glasses in the cupboard above the wine rack."

"Logical," Santana muttered sarcastically. Quinn threw a dish towel at her, then busied herself with the final preparations for lunch.

"I didn't think I was this hungry," Santana said as she sat down, "But this is making my mouth water. Quinn, when the hell did you learn to cook this sort of shit?" They sat and began to eat.

"Two words for you: Food Network." They laughed. "Seriously, I love cooking shows. It's what I watch when I have writers block."

"And how is the writing going?"

"It's not at the moment," Quinn admitted. "I know what I have to say, and I know how I want it to unfold, story-wise, but I can't just bring myself to actually sit and write it."

"That blows," Santana said. "I love that I have none of that sort of pressure."

"Yeah your job sounds like a walk in the park, with all the million dollar deals you've signed this week," Quinn retorted. Santana raised her glass.

"To us, two gluttons for deadlines and punishment," she said. Quinn raised her glass in reply.

"Next question," Santana said. "Are you happy, Quinn?" Quinn's brow furrowed just slightly as if she didn't understand the question. Santana just waited her out, forcing her to reply.

"I am, on the whole, yes," Quinn said. "I won't lie, sometimes I'd kill for someone to talk to, sound ideas out on, even just knowing they were around." Santana felt sorry for Quinn, realising that she must be lonely here on her own. And she'd admitted that she hadn't really had anyone around. "I thought about getting a dog for a while, but I realized I'm out of town too much for that to be fair to any animal."

"Alana wanted to get a cat," Santana said. "I was against it."

"God that would have been a nightmare," Quinn chuckled. "You barely tolerated Lord Tubbington for Brittany." She realized straight away that she'd brought Brittany up and blushed lightly. Santana had no problems talking about Brittany, or even the amazingly public and noisy break up they had. But what had happened after that…

"Are we going to talk about that?" Santana asked.

"I'll clear the table and we'll take the wine into the den," Quinn said. Santana helped and they sat down on the same couch, both avoiding being the one to start the discussion.

"So," Santana said, "I only remember bits of what happened, and I'm not a fan of what I can remember. I remember you knocking on my door, and essentially tossing me into my shower."

"You smelled like vodka and potato chips," Quinn said. "You were an absolute mess, and Rachel called me because you stopped answering your phone but she was in the middle of Chicago and couldn't leave."

"That's right, I had like twenty million answering machine messages from Berry. I ignored them all, obviously. So you showered me, clothed. And while I put clean clothes on-"

"Which took you a while because you hadn't done your laundry in weeks, from what I could gather," Quinn muttered.

"You made coffee. And toast. And I'm pretty sure I told you to fuck off."

"More than once," Quinn said. "You didn't want any toast. You wanted to cry about Britt."

"And you hung around while I did that," Santana said. "You did my laundry, cleaned my fucking house. Did I dream that?"

"Nope," Quinn said. "You were pretty distraught. You and Britt ended badly, I wanted to be supportive."

"Some might argue that I had it coming," Santana said. "Why would you be supportive when I was a dick to her?"

"You were nervous, and insecure," Quinn said. "That's not new for you. So you distanced yourself, it's what you do, not just with girls, but with everyone. It doesn't make you a dick, it makes you wary. Britt cheating on you for a month, that's a dick move, and it can't be rationalized."

"Tell me how you really feel."

"I didn't make excuses when I cheated on Finn, or Sam. That was all me. So I won't give her a free pass on that. Your partner freaking out is not a license for adultery."

"So you came and cleaned me up and waited while I got my shit in line. Which was above and beyond, Q, thanks." She paused. "I remember a bar in South Central."

"We went out to take your mind off it," Quinn continued. "We drank probably a little too much. Ended up asleep in your bed, clothed, I'll add. When we woke up, I was a little under you, you were a little over me…"

"Fuck, Q, I kissed you," Santana said. "Let's not dance around it. I kissed you, hard, and repeatedly."

"And I, in turn, kissed you back," Quinn said. "Which is an equally important note in the story. Until I flipped out."

"I'm pretty sure you said 'Not now, not like this and not now', and got up, so I went to take a shower, and when I got back you were gone," she said.

"To say I handled it badly would be an understatement," Quinn admitted.

"So, my natural question would be this, then – what the fuck was that all about?"

"And this is where it gets incredibly awkward," Quinn said. "Because you never knew… What I mean…"

"Come on, Q."

"I kissed you back because I _wanted_ to kiss you back. Not spur of the moment, why the hell not kissing. But you'd just broken up with Britt, you were still so screwed over by it, and I knew that if we kept going it would end up as a thing we'd write off and laugh about one day. And I can't write you off, Santana, not in any aspect."

"Are you saying-"

"That I'd been in love with you for years? Yeah, that's true. Senior year. I almost died, and of all the people who came to see me, you were the only one who yelled at me."

"I apologized for that," Santana said.

"Not the point. You remember what you said?"

"How fucking dare you put yourself in that kind of position, you stupid, selfish, dumbass, if you could walk right now I'd kick your ass, and if you ever do something so stupid again, so help me God, I will fucking kill you myself," Santana recited. "Then I cried."

"You called me out on a dumb thing, but the thing that I took most was how much you cared about what happened to me."

"Q, I was a dumb teenager who was scared to lose someone important to her."

"And until that day, I had no idea that anyone felt I was important enough to be scared over," Quinn said. "My attachment and abandonment issues were practically legendary. That feeling, it kind of just settled in me, and even though you were happy with Britt, part of me wished that it could have been me."

"Jesus, Quinn. You're not even gay."

"I hadn't given it a lot of thought," Quinn admitted. "Over time I guess you'd label me bisexual, but I'm more of a lover of a person, if that makes sense. Anyway, I spent years just letting you be with Britt, because you were happy with her."

"Until I wasn't."

"Precisely. And then you kissed me, but I couldn't for the life of me have anything remotely resembling us starting out of something bad. I shouldn't have left Chicago like that, but I knew if I stayed, I wouldn't have been able to keep my hands to myself." Santana drained her glass.

"And what about now?" she asked.

"That's still to be determined," Quinn said. "Because I spent six years being determinedly _not_ in love with you. I grew accustomed to the idea of it never being a thing. But here you are, and we're still the same as we ever were."

"And I've had no idea, for years and years, Q. And I tried calling. A lot, if I remember correctly."

"See above conversation where I handle things badly. I know it probably means nothing after all this time, but I am sorry, Santana."

"See, I don't understand what you're sorry about. Sorry for loving me? That's not something you apologize for. Sorry for coming and taking care of my drunk and fucked up ass after Britt broke my heart? Again, not something to be sorry for. Sorry for caring about me too much to take advantage of me while I was vulnerable?"

"Sorry that I left you without telling you why I had to go," Quinn said softly, her eyes filling with tears. "Jesus."

"For the record," Santana said, nudging her with her foot, "I remember you being a good kisser."

"Would you have – if I'd stayed?"

"Would I have used you for rebound sex? Yeah, I would have and I would definitely have hated myself forever for it," Santana said. "I have a history of avoiding my issues by having sex instead. It isn't what you might call a stellar life choice, but it's what I do. Or what I did."

"Can we go back to being friends?" Quinn asked. "I miss you, even just hearing your smart ass comments on Project Runway or Top Model."

"Of course," Santana said. "I just wish we lived in the same city."

"I might come and visit Chicago again," Quinn said. "After I finish book four."

"What do you think people are going to do when they read book four?" Santana asked. "People from home."

"That all depends on how much truth they think is in the books," Quinn said. "I don't know. If I send it to you before I send it to my publisher, can you read it over and make sure it's not insane?"

"Quinn, you're replicating our high school traumas on page," Santana laughed. "There is nothing sane about what McKinley was like. But of course I will. Hey, it'll be like I know a secret the whole world is dying to hear. That's kind of awesome."

"When do you fly out to Maryland?" Quinn asked.

"At six thirty in the morning," Santana groaned. "Apparently my secretary tried to get a later flight, but we use Delta and they didn't have anything direct that the budget would allow for."

"So you're pretty much out of Seattle the second you walk out the door," Quinn said, mostly to herself. Santana just looked her in the eye, and they held each other's stare.


	6. Chapter 6

_Note: Thanks everyone for your reviews! This story actually came as a distraction from another multi-chapter Quintana I was working on, and now it's far longer than the other. Hope you keep enjoying it._

Santana's alarm blared loudly and jolted her from her sleep. It was still dark outside, so she swore loudly and sat up, because she knew if she didn't sit up straight away, she'd go back to sleep. She stood under a hot shower until her eyes managed to stay open without considerable force and put her jeans and a shirt on. She called the reception desk and asked for a taxi to be called, since she knew the shuttle service didn't start until seven o'clock. Then she double checked she had all of her stuff packed, then triple checked the bathroom, because she'd lost more than one hair straightener that way, and went downstairs to check out.

"Lopez, 414, checking out," she said to the young woman behind the counter.

"All on the company credit card?" she enquired, checking the bill.

"Yep," Santana said, handing it to her.

"You work for Caulfield Mellor?" she asked, surprised, as she swiped the card. She gestured to the stack of books to her left. Clearly the overnight shift left plenty of study opportunity. "I'm studying marketing, and you guys are legendary."

"I do, and legendary might be a bit farfetched. We're… competitive. How long til you've finished your degree?"

"Nine months," the girl said. "Half the people in my class want to get in to the internship program you guys have."

"Here's the secret they don't know," Santana said. "Getting an internship is not that hard at Caulfield. We hire interns all of the god damn time. Ten start next week. The challenge is doing enough to get noticed so that they want to keep you beyond the ninety days."

"And how do you do that?"

"Depends on where you want to end up," Santana said, scrawling her signature on the slip. "If you want to be in research, you have to be meticulous and organized, but you also need to be able to summarise a thirty thousand word brief in one minute. If you want to work on the actual campaigns, it helps to have a niche market that you can be considered an expert in, or extensive demographic knowledge. Digital marketing skills are going to boom in the next few years, so be different. People forget about print."

"And what do you do?"

"I'm the chief contract negotiator," Santana said. "Basically, all the other people put the proposal together and I go and sell it, get the signatures, meet the people."

"And what do you need to get into that?"

"You need to not be afraid of airplanes, not be intimidated by domineering characters, be able to multitask like a boss, think on your feet, and it helps if you can talk your way in or out of situations easily," she replied. "And don't take no for an answer."

"Any tips?"

"We interview everyone on the phone who applies. It's time consuming, but it works. If you get Nathanson, talk about yourself and your strengths. If you get Sutcliffe, talk about successful team campaigns, and if you have experience managing a team, talk about that. If you get Lee, talk about the evolving marketplace and how your particular skillset is going to be relevant in the long run," she rattled off. "And they'll ask what you want from the internship. Be specific. Don't just say you're happy to learn whatever, they want to know what you're going to be able to do for them, and want from them, in detail. Don't be vague. The vague people don't get called back."

"You're officially my favourite person," the woman said. "I can't thank you enough."

"It's not a problem," Santana said. "If I see you in nine months, just be awesome, okay?"

"Guaranteed," the woman said. Santana took her copies of the receipts and took her luggage out to the waiting taxi. She barely took notice of the ride to the airport, and checked her luggage in. She found a Starbucks, not hard in Seattle, even the airport had three, and ordered two large coffees. She set her laptop up and drank the two coffees in succession while she waited for her boarding call. She had an email from Rachel.

_Santana_

_Hope your week has been as productive as you planned. Have you seen Quinn? Did you ask her about her pseudo-voyeuristic books? I heard back from Mercedes, she, Sam, Tina and Artie have read them all. They don't seem as livid as I do. But Kurt's only just started so we'll wait and see. _

_I certainly hope she was able to explain what the hell she was thinking when she wrote about our lives like that. I wasn't the only one to notice that she hasn't pointed that same treatment at herself. _

_Blaine sends his love. I think not having you pop up and see him occasionally is making him a bit loopy. He's not the same as Kurt and I, he can't survive on drama alone. He read the books, and all he had to say was that he admired her writing style. Can you believe that?_

_Rach._

_PS – Godspell is coming up. You'd love this one, and Kurt and I both in it. Think about it?_

Santana checked her watch. It was six am, almost, meaning it was almost nine am in New York. Berry would definitely be up. She barely needed sleep, that woman. She pulled out her cell and called her.

"Hello?"

"Rachel."

"Santana?" she asked. "Is everything ok?"

"It's fine, why would something be wrong?"

"Because it's like, eight am in Chicago and you're calling me."

"Actually, I'm in Seattle and it's six. But I definitely am calling you. I got your email," she explained.

"Still in Seattle?"

"About to fly out to Maryland."

"So did you see Quinn while you were in town?"

"I did," Santana said. "We talked. I'm not mad about the books. And you shouldn't be either. It started as a therapy thing. Plus, the character you're so mad about is actually a combination of you and Kurt, with a bit of Mercedes thrown in for fun."

"I sound like a lunatic in those books," Rachel said.

"You were a lunatic in high school. Deal with it," Santana said. "We all were, that's kind of the point. It's why people read it."

"I was not a lunatic."

"Sure you weren't," Santana replied sarcastically. "Let me start listing things, you tell me when you've heard enough. You left Glee to do Ryerson's musical. You ran against Kurt for president. You stuffed the ballot boxes and got suspended. You almost married your high school boyfriend even though you'd barely been together a year without breaking up. You sent a competitor to a crack house. You let Quinn hit you because you appreciated the drama. You almost got a nose-" Rachel burst out laughing.

"Maybe I was crazy," she said. "Perspective, I guess."

"You were only as crazy as the rest of us. I threw my best friend away for Cheerios captain, got a boob job, turned a girl with Down Syndrome into my mortal enemy, stole peoples boyfriends even though I was gay, used Karofsky as a beard, tormented Finn so bad he outed me…"

"Finn was an ass for outing you," Rachel said. "That should have been your call, Santana."

"Why am I suddenly hearing this now instead of ten years ago? You and Quinn both said the same thing."

"How is Quinn?'

"I think she's lonely," Santana said. "It was good to see her. We talked about everything. She said book four is going to surprise a lot of you."

"How so?"

"Let's just say, Quinn's gone through more than most of you think."

"Puck, Shelby, Beth, Cheerios, her dad bailing, Finn, more Shelby, the whole rebel punk thing, the accident…" Rachel said.

"No, there's more," Santana sighed. "She's been having trouble writing it. I'm not going to spill her secrets, Rachel, that's something she gets to do for herself."

"Jesus, how could there be more?" Rachel said. Santana could hear her flight being paged for boarding.

"I gotta go, Berry, I'm boarding."

"Will you try and make it up for Godspell?"

"Send me some dates, I'll see where I am in the country," Santana said. "Talk to you later." She gathered her belongings together and made her way to the gate.


	7. Chapter 7

The flight to Maryland was uneventful, so too was the hotel check in. She didn't bother unpacking anything since she'd only be there overnight, and ducked out for a quick lunch. When she got back to the hotel, she tried reading the last half of book three, but ended up throwing it aside.

Yesterday with Quinn had gotten weird. She was glad they were friends again. But when Quinn had hugged her goodbye, Santana held on tighter than she should have, moved her hands where she shouldn't have. Quinn didn't resist. Santana couldn't help but think she was being ridiculous. She'd just gotten out of a relationship – again – and that was one thing Quinn had run from already.

But it wasn't really the same. Alana was fun, great in bed. Brittany, she had been in love with, ready to pick up and move across the country for, until she found out that the summer fling Britt had every year during high school was living in her place, sleeping in her bed, in the exact same spot that Santana should have been sleeping in.

She had never even really thought about Quinn like that before. Sure, she'd always thought she was beautiful, that was the general opinion of anybody who had functioning eyeballs. During school she'd never gotten any kind of signal from the girl that she was anything other than straight. And after all this time, Quinn confessed she'd been in love with her. Had. Past tense.

Except she didn't pull away when Santana's hands slid down her back. And when she brushed her lips against Santana's cheek, Santana had seen something there. Unless she had imagined it. And now she was on the other side of the country, wishing Quinn was here, even though her plans for the afternoon largely involved a bath, some ice cream and whatever half decent movie she could find.

She hadn't been completely honest with Quinn. When Quinn had admitted that she had wanted to kiss her, after their drunk night out, Santana could have said that it was mutual. She did make the first move, and it wasn't residual alcohol, or loneliness, or revenge. Quinn was a gorgeous woman who cared about her, took care of her, and wanted the best for her. But then they hadn't spoken about it for years.

This weekend they'd acted like they'd never been apart. The whole thing had been fun, but now she was as confused as hell, and it was all because of Quinn fucking Fabray. Quinn Fabray, with her best selling novels, her home in Seattle where she cooked god damn lamb shanks and cheesecakes, her perfect hair and quiet demeanor.

She set the bath to run, and started undressing. Her phone went off, and she went to check it. It was from Quinn.

_Assuming you've landed. Hope your flight was ok. Thought it might interest you to know that I've been writing all night and am just going to bed now. Book four is almost done. Pretty sure it's thanks to you, and this weekend. _

Santana put the phone down and got into her bath. Unlike her previous attempt at a bath, this one went uninterrupted, and she soaked in the practically boiling water until it turned tepid and she was wrinkled. She felt markedly better, and flopped down on the bed in her robe. Ten days on the road, and she missed her own bed. Kinds of hotels she stayed in had nice beds, but it wasn't the same as her bed.

She ordered a room service dinner, threw her pajamas on, and started flicking through the TV guide. There wasn't a lot of options for her night's viewing, unless she wanted to watch some mindless movie that had Katherine Heigl in it, or an old Hitchcock. She was leaning toward the Hitchcock.

When the service attendant delivered her food, she asked him about the ice-cream options. He rattled off the prices, and Santana shook her head.

"If I give you fifty bucks, can you go to the 7-Eleven across the street and get me some Ben and Jerry's? You can keep the change."

"Hell yeah," the young guy said. "What flavor?"

"A pint of Boston Cream Pie. If they don't have that, Brownie Batter. Or something equally sugary and disgusting."

"Sure," he said, taking the fifty. "Anything else?"

"Some Dr Pepper wouldn't hurt," she said. "Thanks kid." He disappeared and returned a few moments later with her ice cream and soda. She thanked him again and put her ice cream in the icebox. She spent the night exactly as she had planned, doing absolutely nothing, and loving every second.

The next morning, she got up early and got herself ready. She pulled her intern's file out. Dean Morris, age 20. University of Maryland, graduated with honors. He was due to meet her at nine am in the lobby of the hotel, because she had to fax the waiver to the office before they left, otherwise Morris wouldn't be covered by the company travel insurance policy. She took her luggage to the lobby and waited. A young man came in, looking a little nervous, with two suitcases. He caught Santana's eye.

"Santana Lopez?" he asked, sticking out his hand. "Dean Morris." They shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, Dean," she said. "I need you to sign one more piece of paper before we leave for the airport. Last one, I swear."

"What's this one?"

"Travel waiver. You're covered by our insurance policy, but if you are killed while travelling for work, your family isn't allowed to sue for added damages. Read it, sign it, I'll fax it and we'll be on our way." He read it quickly, but still taking long enough that Santana believed he'd actually read it. He signed it, and Santana asked the clerk behind the counter to fax it to the number at the top and add the charge to her account. Her phone rang a few moments later. It was her regular secretary, a startlingly efficient Southern woman named Debbie, who was about the same age as her mother and called her Sugar.

"Hey Sugar, your bits of paper came in," she said. "Now come on home, I made apple turnovers last night and Warner is eyein' yours off somethin' bad." Santana settled the account, and they got into a waiting taxi.

"So, Dean," Santana said. "Are you nervous?"

"I'm kind of nervous and excited in equal measure," he said.

"Just take a deep breath if things get too much. You're not the only intern we've got, not the only one who's been nervous, and trust me, you'd have to do a lot to make anyone hate you," Santana said. "Any idea what you want to get into?"

"I've kind of got a soft spot for viral campaigning," he said. "I did a few entertainment based viral campaigns that went really well, and I think there's a potential to increase launch-date audiences with a good viral."

"Good," Santana said. "Always be clear. Though, if I'll be honest, I was kind of hoping you'd be less think-tank and more operations."

"According to the company brief, you're the bigshot deal broker," he said.

"I'm not gonna lie, I'll be scouting for an assistant. Warner Hayes, Faye La Trobe and myself, we're all going to be keeping eyes on you," she said. "And hopefully there's at least one of you that can help me keep on top of this shit." She laughed.

"You're a lot less formal than I expected," Dean said.

"Formal is for the boys and girls at home. I spend too much of my life travelling to have a pole shoved my ass as well. Plus, I need to be approachable, since I'm the face people see all the time," she said.

"How much travel do you do?"

"Let's put it this way, I've been to Boston, Seattle and here in less than two weeks, and that's not the busiest trip I've taken recently. I've probably got more frequent flyer points than god. Caulfield, he does the London trip a bit, but he stays a month or six weeks at a time. Me, I'm everywhere constantly."

"Like the dude in Fight Club," he said to himself, as they got out at the airport.

"Sorry?"

"Edward Norton in Fight Club," he said. "Hotels and airplanes became his life. Single serving meals, beds, people."

"Well," Santana said, "I promise not to hallucinate another version of myself. And then flip my shit, try and kill my split personality and blow my own brains out." They chuckled.

"What is it like to work at Caulfield and Mellor?"

"It's pretty good," Santana said. "But be warned, I'm by far the most relaxed person you're going to work with. A lot of very experienced suits, some are short on patience. Just work hard. If you don't understand something, ask about it straight away, otherwise everyone will assume you know what you're doing. If you have to go back and ask the question later, it'll be a sign that you've wasted their time. And for the love of god, do not interrupt a closed door meeting unless the building is being evacuated."

"Got it," he said. "Do you know much about the other interns?"

"I know next to nothing about them," Santana said. "Warner is picking up six, Jake is picking up three and I am picking up you. Tomorrow is your first day. I won't be there, I get to have two blissful days after my eleven days on the road."

"And what's with the share-house thing?" Caulfield and Mellor always put the interns, up to twelve at once, in a shared apartment complex.

"It guarantees that you're not stressing about a place to live, and since a large majority of the interns don't hang around it eliminates the need for short lease places and so on," Santana said. "Can I give you some advice?"

"Any advice," Dean said.

"Don't treat it like some manic Trump-style Apprentice house. This isn't an elimination style internship. There is space for all of you, if you're what we're looking for. Let the apartment be your home. Keep it out of your work, and vice versa. Try to get to know the other interns. Because if you can't build working relationships with these people, a place like ours will spit you out," she said, stopping at a Starbucks. She checked her watch. "Coffee?"

"Grande brew," he said.

"Two brewed, grande," she said to the cashier. When they had their coffees, they continued on. "The other advice is this: you are at the bottom of the ladder."

"I fully expected to be," Morris replied.

"If a secretary tells you no on something, don't argue. Most of our secretaries have been doing what they do since you were in middle school. Learn some of their names, if you can. They're awesome. But they outrank you. And almost everyone in the building, because if they strike, we are all royally screwed. We've had a few interns come in and try and jump the queue, so to speak. They always, always get fired. There are about six people in the entire building who don't generally have to answer to anyone, and two of them own it. Even I have someone above me." They checked in for their flight and finished their coffee.


	8. Chapter 8

Santana pushed open the door to her apartment and left her suitcases by the door. She had a small Tupperware container in hand, the turnover from Debbie, which she deposited in the fridge. She saw her key on top of the microwave, and remembered that she and Alana had broken up. The apartment was quiet, and dimming in the afternoon light. She kicked her boots off, and flopped face first on to her bed.

She woke not long after, with a grumbling stomach. She'd managed a bite of lunch at the intern's share house, after dropping Morris off she'd gone in and met the others. Two of them were making platters of deli style sandwiches, and she'd snagged one before declaring she had to go to the office. But now she was starving again, and decided ordering some Thai would be a good idea.

While she waited, she jumped in the shower and threw her tracksuit pants on, thankful that for the next two days she could wear whatever she wanted. The only thing she had on her agenda for the next two days was grocery shopping. She ate her Thai on the couch, watching the episodes of Top Model she'd DVRd while she was out of town. Her phone rang just as she was berating a girl for questioning Tyra's makeover choice.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hi," came a familiar voice.

"Quinn," Santana said. "What's up?"

"Not much," Quinn replied. "Just thought I'd see if you'd made it home yet. You?"

"I'm cussing out Alisha on Top Model. Don't these girls realize that Tyra is always right when it comes to makeovers?" she said. Quinn laughed richly.

"This is what I miss about you," Quinn said. "You constantly rag on these people like they can hear you."

"Yeah, whatever," Santana said. "So how's book four?

"That's the other reason I called. I think I'm done."

"You're joking right?"

"No," Quinn said. "You left and I sat down to write. I got a couple of hours sleep, but then my brain wouldn't shut up so I sat down and kept writing. I want you to read the stuff… about-"

"Of course I will," Santana said.

"I'll email it to you," Quinn said. "I just want to know if it's overdramatic. And you might find something in there you didn't expect. I don't know, I guess I'm nervous about people reading it."

"It'll be fine, Quinn," Santana said. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing you could write in there that's gonna make me walk away from you." Quinn let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks," she said. "Call me when you've read it, I need to do one last check before I send it to the editor."

"Sure," Santana said.

"Are you back at work tomorrow?" she asked.

"No, barring some global catastrophe, I get two days off, then go back to meet and evaluate some interns," Santana said. "And it looks like I don't have to go out of town for another few weeks. It's practically a miracle. I get to sleep in my own bed."

"Sounds like heaven," Quinn said. "I don't know what I'd be like if I had to sleep on random beds all the time, my back would hate me."

"Still gives you grief?" Santana asked. A sore back was one of the things Quinn carried out of her car accident.

"It does," Quinn said. "I went all out on my mattress, it's a giant pillow top, firm… I need the support."

"Mine's also a firm pillow top," Santana said. "Great minds."

"Well," Quinn said, "I'll email you the chapters I want you to read. Obviously, you can't-"

"Quinn, I'm not an idiot. They're going to exist on my computer, and once I've finished, I'll be deleting them. No hard copy. Your future best seller is safe with me."

"I owe you," Quinn said.

"Please, Q, we don't keep score. Plus, I figure by now we'd be about even." Quinn hung up and Santana unpaused her Top Model. When the episode finished, she checked her email and saw the one from Quinn, with a large attachment. She hit download and made coffee while she waited.

The first part was what Santana had expected. Quinn, sorry, Casey was suffering with the loss of her daughter and her father's abandonment. She went to see a therapist, who diagnosed her with depression. A lot of the text was Casey's rhetoric about how things that seem perfect never are. Then Casey went to see her father.

Santana didn't remember that. She frowned. Casey tried to mend their relationship, saying that both of them made mistakes. Her father seemed inclined to coming around, and asked what was new with her, if she was dating.

"_Well, there's someone I would love to date," Casey said. "But she-"_

Santana stopped. She. She. Her?

"_She?" her father erupted. His eyes burned with a fury she had never seen before, not even when he'd found out she was pregnant. "What do you mean, she?"_

"_She," Casey said. "A girl."_

"_No, no god damn way," the man said, grabbing her shoulders. "You cannot come here, try to tell me you miss me and you're sorry, and then tell me you're in love with a girl. You've gone from a slut to a dyke in a year? Casey, if you weren't going to hell before, you're definitely going now. A disgrace, an embarrassment, and no daughter of mine."_

Santana's vision flashed red and white.

_Casey's father stormed to the door and opened it. He pointed to the doorway. "Get the hell out of my life, and don't you dare bring your sinful ways to this house ever again. I'm so ashamed, Casey. I raised you better than that, and this is what you do to me? Everything that happens to you from here on out, you deserve, and it's not my concern. You are not my daughter." Casey left in tears, flinching as the door slammed behind her._

_She got in the car and drove, and went four miles before she realized she was driving in the opposite direction to her house. She stopped at a rest stop on the highway and got out of the car, fell to her knees, crying so hard she thought she wouldn't be able to breathe another breath in._

_Cars continued to pass the girl on the ground, but she was half masked by her own car. She sat against the rear wheels, not a thought given to the pale blue dress she was wearing. The tears gave way to stony silence, as the words of her father ran through her head._

_Slut. Dyke. Disgrace. Embarrassment._

_You are not my daughter._

Santana couldn't help it, she started to cry. This whole conversation, this attempt to fix things with her dad. She didn't know it had ever happened, and suddenly, everything that came next made perfect sense. She wanted to call Quinn now, no, screw that, she wanted to fly back to Seattle and hug the damn girl.

_Casey sat there until the afternoon sun turned cool evening. She got back into her car, saw the flashing indicator on her phone that she'd missed calls from Ellie, Seth and her mother. She ignored them all and went home._

_The house was empty, because of course it was. There was nobody there for her, just a note saying her mother would be back soon. Everyone, of course, was somewhere else, which is where they always were. She pulled her phone out and her fingers hesitated over Ellie's number. But it was Friday, and Ellie was on her post-cheerleading date with Lindsay. She didn't want to interrupt. Or explain. _

_She left her phone on the kitchen counter. She had a shower, and sat on the edge of the bed in her pajamas. Her mind wouldn't turn off._

_Slut. Dyke. Disgrace. Embarrassment. _

_Slut. Dyke. Disgrace. Embarrassment._

_Casey hated herself for being those things, and even more because she didn't know how to be anything different. She tried to be the right kind of daughter, but she couldn't do it, clearly. She went back into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror._

_You are not my daughter. _

Santana had to stop and get some tissues, she could barely see the screen any more. She instantly hated herself for not being more available to Quinn when she was with Brittany. The two of them had disappeared into a bubble, and maybe she might have noticed this was happening. It was a stupid thought, and she knew it.

'_Fine then,' Casey decides. 'Maybe I'm no-one.'_

The chapter ended. Santana turned straight to the next one. She knew what came next. Casey's mother comes home and goes in to make sure Casey came home. Casey's on her bed. Not in. On. Not awake. And she screams so loud that a neighbor hears her and comes to see what's wrong.

_Casey was so still one could be forgiven for thinking she was asleep. But the drying, tacky foam at the corner of her mouth, pooling on the bed. It's a dead giveaway that she is not asleep. Casey's mother hovers over her, not wanting to touch her, in case she's in pain, or maybe it's because she doesn't want to find out her daughter is dead. The man next door comes in and swears loudly, and Casey's mother can't stop crying. He dials 911 and gives instructions to the house._

_The call center attendant tells him how to make sure her airway is clear, and he can't help but feel like he's violating the girl somehow, the same little blonde kid who would read on the front porch for hours, ponytail sticking to her neck in the summer, or wrapped up to her eyeballs in winter. He feels for a pulse, and silently thanks every god he knows when he feels one._

'_She's got a pulse,' he says, and Casey's mother can finally stand enough to move toward her. The neighbor is still receiving instructions over the phone, and he has to move her to put her in the recovery position. _

_The paramedics knock on the door, and are yelled at to come upstairs. They take charge quickly, assessing the girl and looking around. _

'_What did she take?' one asks. Casey's mother shakes her head. She wouldn't take anything. 'Come on, what she's taken makes a difference. Got painkillers in the house? Anti-depressants? Anti-anxiety?' He pulls out a tube and they focus on Casey._

'_She's on Xanax,' her mother stammers. 'And I'm on Valium… oh god.' The paramedics look at each other, and Casey's mother resumes her position on the floor. _

'_Are they in the bathroom?' the other one asks. She can only nod, so he turns to the man. 'Are you the father?'_

'_Neighbor, I heard Patty screaming. John Thompson.'_

'_John, go into the bathroom, bring me any pill bottles, empty or full. Check and see if anyone's thrown up in there recently. Let me know if you see any alcohol bottles," the paramedic instructs. He pries open an eyelid to check her pupils. John dashes to the bathroom and comes back with two empty bottles._

'_No vomit,' he said. 'No alcohol. Just these, both empty.' The two paramedics are loading Quinn on to a stretcher. 'They were filled two days ago.'_

'_Shit,' one says. 'Shit, shit. Alright, John, we've gotta get her in to hospital. Can you drive? Can you bring Patty in?' He nods, and they leave, one pocketing the pill bottles on the way out. John can't do anything right now, except sit on the floor beside Patty, head in his hands._


	9. Chapter 9

Santana wondered how she had gotten the details of that night. Surely she wouldn't have asked her mother. She remembered back to the moment she got the phone call from Judy, saying Quinn was in hospital and she needed to come.

Santana was seventeen and she was more scared than she'd ever been in her life. She'd made it to the hospital, but none of the others had been there. Just Judy, who had asked her not to disclose it to anyone, not even Brittany, until they could talk to Quinn.

Quinn had woken up the following evening in a private room in the psychiatric ward, with a tube down her throat and her wrists strapped to the bed. When the tube came out, she refused to speak for days. Judy called the school and said Quinn was joining her on urgent family business out of the country. But she just lay in the bed, for days, crying on and off.

It had taken a lot of convincing for Santana to be allowed in to see Quinn. Judy had to meet with the head of the psychiatric facility, her therapist. But she'd gone in and held Quinn's hand until she decided she wanted to talk. Which she did, eventually, about her dad, Beth, Puck, Shelby and everything. Except her dad. That had never come up.

And they never told anyone what had happened, that Quinn had tried to kill herself. Not Brittany, not Santana's parents. Just nobody. Quinn went back to therapy, more often now, and things went back to normal.

When fate had decided that Quinn hadn't had enough and had her mowed down by a truck six weeks after she got out of hospital, Santana couldn't believe it. But she was also mad at Quinn, because a tiny part of her thought maybe she was trying again. But she remembered that Quinn had Yale. And a bright future, and realized that she probably was just stupid for texting and driving.

She took a break from reading the book. She was drained, emotionally. She wanted to simultaneously hug Quinn and find Mr Fabray and kill the bastard herself. She called Quinn instead, ignoring the fact that it was quite late.

"Santana?' the voice came hesitantly.

"Q," she said softly. "That shit with your dad…" She could head Quinn start to cry softly. "Did that actually happen?"

"Yes," she said simply, and continued crying. Santana sighed.

"Q, you could have called me. Your dad is a giant fucking asshole, and if I ever see him again, I'm going to lay his ass out, gladly. I had no idea, Quinn, none, that he'd ever spoken to you like that. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"I've felt sick about that conversation for years," Quinn said. "And I was nervous about you reading it."

"Quinn, do you have any other secrets you need to tell me?" Santana said. "I want you to tell me everything. Because we're both fucked up, but we can at least be that together, okay?"

"That's a very romantic notion," Quinn said.

"Whatever," Santana said. "Stop battling the demons on your own, Quinn."

"See," Quinn said. "See why it was so easy for me to be in love with you? You just want to sweep in and make everything better."

"Well, I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress," Santana said. "I'm serious, Quinn. Lay it all out. Because reading that part of your book, it made me… I don't know. I kind of want to stop anything bad from happening to you ever again. I think you've had enough. I'm stepping in."

"To what, fight the cosmos?" Quinn teased.

"If I have to. Look, here's all I know. You're not a slut. I'm pretty clear that you're not a dyke, but even if you were, that's not a bad thing. And you have never, ever been a disgrace or an embarrassment to me. Fuck your dad," Santana said. "If I didn't have to be at work in two days – actually, less than that now – I'd be on a fucking plane right now."

"Jesus, Santana. Do you know how much better I feel knowing you're on my side?" Quinn said.

"Well, I am. And you can call me whenever you need to talk, okay? Rehashing all this shit can't be doing wonders for your brain. Can't sleep, whatever, call me."

"I don't know about that," Quinn said. "That kind of dependence, I might fall in love with you all over again."

"Then fall in love with me," Santana blurted. "We could both do worse."

"What?"

"Quinn, as if I know. This weekend felt easy and simple and right, and now all I want to do is jump back on a plane and protect you forever. That might be love, I don't know. Spent so long avoiding it, I probably wouldn't recognize it if it was wearing a nametag and spitting in my face."

"Santana, you were never in love with me."

"Wasn't I?" Santana mused. "I lied to my girlfriend to protect you. I dropped everything, both times you got hurt. I wanted to punch god himself in the face for not giving you a break. When you were hurting, I was hurting, and I wanted to stop it." She paused. "But then again, I could be a total dumbass."

"You might be a lot of things, Santana Lopez, but a dumbass is not among them," Quinn said. "For the record, we're both way too intense."

"A little," Santana laughed. "Quinn, come to Chicago. When you can. Just come, and stay here, so we can talk. Because I'm starting to feel like maybe fate had more in mind than us rekindling our friendship."

"Are you serious?"

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life," Santana said. She could only hear silence. "Quinn, I won't hurt you. I can't."

"I can be in Chicago on Friday," Quinn said. "I can send the book to the editor tomorrow. Did you read the rest?"

"I haven't, yet. I cried too much, and had to call you," she insisted. "But does that mean you'll come?"

"I'll see you Friday." Quinn hung up the phone. Santana had a headache, from crying and from reading so late. She drank a bottle of water with an aspirin and went to bed.

She finished reading the next morning over her coffee. She'd cried again, reading how Casey tried to engage with the idea of self esteem and self worth that had been alien to her until now. People always thought that Quinn had her shit together, except she really didn't. Not in the slightest. She had a huge wall up, with a pretty picture painted on one side so you couldn't see the shitfight behind it.

She knew that tactic well. She had a wall too, and hers had a picture of an awesome career on one side, and on the other side was her abuela, Brittany, and tucked into a corner was the idea that she would never be the girl people expected her to be. But she knew what was behind Quinn's wall, and Quinn knew what was behind hers.

She thought about Quinn while she did the grocery shopping. She wondered if maybe she was crazy for telling her to come. She had no right to just tell her to get on a plane like that, without knowing what she was inviting her here for. But she had, and now Quinn was coming, and she realized she might actually have to think about this now.

Santana knew it was ridiculous to think she could love Quinn. Quinn was everything that Brittany wasn't. Brittany had crashed into her life like a gigantic firework, gorgeous, everywhere and as hot as the sun. She was all passion, until she wasn't, and like a firework fades there was just a vast nothingness and a shell on the ground that used to contain everything. Brittany had really hurt her, and that was one thing Quinn had never done.

If Brittany was a firework, she had no idea what Quinn was. Maybe a candle, she decided as she walked past the pasta. Because she was unassuming and happy to be out of the spotlight. She could light up the room, if you let her, if you looked at her. Sometimes the flame flickered, sometimes it went out but if you re-lit it you'd remember what it was like to be in the light. To be with her. And in the end, a candle lasted a hell of a lot longer than a firework, and it couldn't blow your motherfucking hand off if you lit it wrong.

Santana got to the deli counter and realized she hadn't actually put anything in her cart yet. She'd have to go back and do the entire store again, this time paying attention to the stuff she walked past. She remembered to buy more than normal, since she'd have a guest and actually be home for longer than a week. She got it home, put it away, and sat on the couch. She recognized the feeling tightening in her chest.

This is where she'd typically do one of two things – run, or turn into such a bitch whoever she was dating would run. It was probably a combination of fear and nerves, all she knew was that she didn't like it. She paused, her hand over the phone, ready to call Quinn and say she was being an idiot for expecting things to go the way she wanted, and to stay in Seattle. She just wanted some god damn sign that she was doing something right, for once.

And then the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"San?"

"Rachel?" she sat down. "What's up?"

"You need to try and get to New York next weekend," she said. "Blaine was just cast in Godot and we're having a thing. He misses you."

"I dunno, I probably can," Santana said, "As long as you don't mind another guest."

"Alana?"

"God no, we broke up. Um, Quinn is coming to stay for a while. I'm not sure how long for."

"And now your tone has gone all weird. Spill, Lopez."

"I literally had my hand over the phone debating whether or not I should call her and tell her not to come," Santana said. "I asked for a sign. And you called."

"Did something happen with you guys in Seattle?"

"Sort of, maybe. Nothing, you know, physical. But there's something there, I think. She sent me some of the next book and I called her, we talked, and now she's flying in on Friday to see me," Santana said. "And no, I won't send you the book."

"Call me heaven-sent then," Rachel laughed. "Look if there is a possibility that you guys could be happy together, you should give it a shot. Though, I didn't even realize Quinn was gay…"

"I don't think she is, she's bi from what she tells me," Santana said. "Once you read the next book, you'll understand."

"Well, book four certainly sounds like it's going to be interesting." Rachel paused. "Give the Quinn thing a good shot, San. None of the half assed push and pull, okay? You two understand each other, so she'll know when you're being full of crap."

"Thanks Rachel," Santana said. "I actually feel better. Tell Blaine we'll be there. Or don't, and we'll surprise him. Talk to you later." She hung up, and walked away from the phone smiling.


	10. Chapter 10

_I disappeared for a while to write things that are nowhere near as fun, but required if I want to graduate. Sorry! Thanks for your feedback everyone. One person commented that Santana has been pretty blasé about Quinn's love confession. Well, of course she has, but she has her reasons, naturally. That wasn't unintentional. ;) _

* * *

Santana looked at the arrivals board again. She was definitely in the right place, right gate, right time. Quinn was just taking her sweet ass time. She was nervous as hell, and had been since she checked out of work early to go to the airport. She'd spent Friday morning in a seminar with the interns, giving them the rundown on the operations side of their work, and had a couple of them say they were interested in what she did. She made mental note to keep an eye on them, and asked Debbie to keep her ears open in the gossip pool for her. If there was a problem with the interns, the secretaries would know it first.

She checked her watch for the third time in twenty seconds, and as she was about to let out a string of cuss words, Quinn came out of the gate, walking a little stiffer than Santana remembered.

"Q," Santana said, wrapping her in a careful hug. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine, flying gets me a little stiff, it's those stupid chairs. I can walk it out," she said. She smiled at Santana and kissed her on the cheek, and Santana knew her coming to Chicago was the right thing.

"Editors happy with the book?" she asked as they walked toward the luggage carousel.

"They're happy I got it in early," Quinn said. "I won't know how they feel about the book itself for a week or so. But Regina, she's my editor, she doesn't like to change things too much. She was the one I talked to about characters in the start, and occasionally she'll question whether a certain event is relevant to the story."

"Does that happen often?"

"It did," Quinn said. "But I invited her to see my study. You saw the walls."

"Your epic walls of scribble and arrows?"

"The entire plotline for the remaining books and how they're linked to storylines for the first half of the series," Quinn said, rolling her eyes. "She took one look, declared she trusted me, and pretty much leaves me to it. How are your interns?"

"The one I picked up will end up in planning, if he makes it," Santana said. "I've got my eyes on two who say they're interested in operations. One has some legal background, so legal are watching her too. The guy could be all mine, if he's any good. Of course, I hear all this second hand, since I've seen them for half a day."

"You must have a pretty reliable source," Quinn said, moving toward her bag. Santana lifted it, and waved Quinn's hand away when she tried to reclaim it.

"Debbie, my secretary. She is the savior of my career. Actually, all our staff are pretty excellent, but Debbie cooks me pastries and calls me Sugar."

"And pastries are always a winning tool," Quinn conceded. "Do you have to work over the weekend?"

"Not unless the world is about to end," Santana replied. "I'm on office duty for the next three weeks. But, I do have to ask about how you would feel about a quickie trip to New York next weekend."

"New York?"

"Rachel has been on my ass to come and visit Blaine for ages, but now he's landed a role in _Waiting for Godot_. They're having a celebration. If you're not up to it, that's cool."

"Rachel, Blaine and Kurt?" she asked. "No, that could be fun. I should probably start reaching out to people more, and Rachel would be a good place to start."

"Funny," Santana said, as they reached the taxi rank. "Rach and I were never really friends at school. I guess having Blaine as a friend in common warmed us up to each other. Now I can count on her for being god-honest truthful about anything, even if I don't get to see her much." They got into the taxi and Santana gave her address.

"You don't own a car?"

"I did," she said. "But I wasn't really in town enough to justify it. I can cab it anywhere important, and if it's work related I can write it off, or they send a car."

"How far away is your office?"

"Close enough that I walk when it's warm, but if it's snowy I catch a cab." They arrived at Santana's building, and they went inside. Santana pushed open the door, and Quinn saw the apartment for the first time.

It was much nicer than the one she'd lived in when the shit had hit the fan with Brittany. That had been a typical college apartment, but this was a place Santana had really worked at feeling at home in, and showing it to Quinn felt like showing her something fiercely private.

"It's just like you," Quinn said, running a hand along the back of the couch. "Modern, but still warm."

"Well, as long as you're here," Santana said, "Treat it like your place. Just don't answer the door in your underwear, the elderly guy next door occasionally gets the apartments confused and I swear Alana once almost gave him a stroke."

"You don't seem to upset by the break up," Quinn said. Santana pulled a water from the fridge and tossed another to Quinn.

"I'm not," Santana said. "Of course, it was weird to come here and see that every trace of her was gone. But it was time to get out or get in, and I wasn't in. Not fair to her, not fair to me. I hope she finds someone who wants in."

"So which one is my room?" Quinn asked.

"Well, since you've got issues with your back, you can totally stay in my room, and I'll crash in the guest room."

"Santana, I'm not kicking you out of your bedroom."

"I'm not being kicked out," Santana said. "I'm offering."

"That seems like a lot of effort, having to accommodate me while you're working and whatever," Quinn said. "The guest bed will be fine."

"Are you sure?" Santana said. "I mean, who knows how long you're staying. How about a compromise – you can stay in the guest room, but if your back starts hurting, let me know and we'll trade."

"Deal."

"Promise you'll tell me if your back hurts," Santana said. "I don't want you to be in pain."

"I promise," Quinn said. "So, the few times I came here to see you, I didn't really get a chance to see the city properly. So we'll have to plan some fun stuff for your days off, and when you're working I'll roam around. I'm sure there are things I can discover."

"But we have a whole weekend ahead of us," Santana said. "Tell me Quinn, have you ever actually been to a baseball game?"

"No," Quinn said. "How did I get to be this old and never see a baseball game?"

"Well, the White Sox are playing the Minnesota Twins on Sunday. Work generally has seats, so we should totally watch a game, eat disgusting concession hot dogs and talk bad smack about players," Santana said.

"Do you even know anything about baseball?"

"I do," Santana said. "We do a lot of deals at baseball games. Unofficially. There's not much to do except learn how the game works."

"No scantily clad cheerleaders?" Quinn teased.

"No cheerleaders, period," Santana said. "One day I'll ask why."

"Maybe there's nowhere for them to stand? Safely, I mean."

"You could be right," Santana said. "So, dinner! Out or in, your choice."

"Umm, in. If that's okay. I'm really just killing for a hot shower, and then I quite like the idea of pajamas."

"I don't blame you. I'm so glad hotels don't charge for excessive hot water use, I kind of use hot showers as sanity while I'm on the road," Santana said. "You shower, I'll take care of dinner. Is there anything you don't eat?"

"Nope," Quinn said. "And I'm starving, so whatever you decide needs to be in large quantities."

"I know just the place to take care of that," Santana said. "The blue towels in the bathroom are yours, blue loofah if you're into that. I figure if you color code, you can't get confused."

"Thanks," Quinn said. She wandered off to get her stuff and Santana just watched her go. They were both being perfectly friendly, but there was an unspoken _something_ there. They hadn't discussed the circumstances through which Quinn had been invited to stay, or the specifics of what the visit was looking to achieve, how long it would last. Santana was happy to take her time, because not rushing could be her one way of making sure she didn't stuff up whatever potential thing there may possibly, kind of, maybe be between them.


	11. Chapter 11

Once the mountain of Indian food had been ordered, and Quinn was done in the bathroom, Santana went in to wash off her makeup for the night. She saw the various things Quinn had tucked into a corner of the vanity, some moisturizers and cleansers, and some other bits and pieces.

She came in as Santana finished up. "How long til the food gets here?"

"About twenty minutes," Santana replied.

"Can I talk to you quickly?" Quinn said. Santana must have had an alarmed look on her face. "Oh, nothing bad. Promise. Just, you know, in the interest of trying not to have secrets."

"Jesus, you know how to scare the crap out of a girl," she breathed. She leaned on the edge of the vanity. "What's up?" Quinn produced some small brown prescription bottles.

"Full disclosure," she said. "I still take anti-depressants. My dosage is pretty minimal now, but it's still something I need to do. Bottle two. Painkillers. I don't like taking them, and I rarely need to. But if something throws my back out, or hip out, I'll need one. And you'll know I need it because I'll probably be screaming in pain."

"Tell me it doesn't happen often," Santana said, not enjoying her brain's display of what that might sound like.

"I don't think I've taken one in about four months," Quinn said. "Bottle three. Vitamin E. Helps my bones apparently. Nothing remarkable about it."

"Quinn, this tour of your pill collection wasn't necessary," Santana said. "I don't need to know every little thing."

"Like I said, full disclosure. I'm pretty sure this whole trip is going to be like one big discovery for both of us. I'm not ashamed of what's happened to me, and the unfortunate results mean I have more pills to take than an average person our age."

"Please, one of my exes, Penny, she had a fucking pill for everything. A real naturopath. Omegas, anti this, anti that, vitamins, magnesium. Place looked like a pharmacy when she was here." Santana smiled. "But I like the idea of discovery. Full disclosure, then. Closest thing in my life to drugs is an unholy attachment to caffeine."

Quinn shook her head. "Some things never change." She put the brown pill bottles with the rest of her stuff. Santana had always balked at Alana's toothbrush in the toothbrush holder, her eyeliner pencils scattered over the counter in different colors. But Quinn's stuff seemed like it had always been there. Or at least, it should have been. She didn't feel like an intrusion.

The food arrived and they made short work of demolishing it, over half-muted episodes of _Greys Anatomy_. Somewhere between Bailey reaming out Meredith and Owen and Cristina fighting, Quinn tucked her feet under Santana's thighs to keep her toes warm. Santana draped an arm around her knees, fingers lightly playing with the leg seam of her pajama pants.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" Santana asked.

"I dunno," Quinn said. "Something touristy. Every time I've visited a city for book press, I've seen nothing but bookstores."

"Then I know just the thing," Santana said. "We can-"

"No, keep it a surprise," Quinn said. "But after this episode is done, I think I'm calling it a night. Some day, we'll figure out why travel is so tiring, when all we're doing is sitting down."

"Question for the ages," Santana agreed. "I'll file it alongside the location of all missing socks. Is your back feeling better?"

"Much," Quinn said. "It just doesn't like something about airplanes. Do you get up early?"

"Not if I don't have to. It's my first full weekend home so I'm planning on being in bed til around 9:30."

"I'll try not to wake you," Quinn said. "My brain switches on far too early."

"Well, there's a coffee pot in the kitchen, and the filters are second drawer from the top." Santana smiled. "It's nice having you here, Quinn. It's nice having someone here I can be at ease with."

"Don't get too intense," she said. "We have plenty of time for that. Unless my editor has a heart attack. We've got all the time in the world for these conversations."

"We've got a few of them, don't we?" Santana said. "Guess that happens when you don't speak for years."

"We're speaking now, and that's all I care about," Quinn said. The credits began to roll, and Quinn shifted her feet. She bade Santana good night, and got herself ready for bed.

The next morning, Santana woke to the smell of something cooking, and fresh coffee. It was definitely a good way to wake up. She went to the kitchen via the bathroom, and found Quinn frying bacon to go with the eggs benedict.

"Right on 9:30," she said. "Figured I could cook you breakfast."

"Been up long?" Santana asked, pouring a coffee.

"Since six thirty. I worked on book five. I hope you don't mind, I borrowed the desk in your study."

"I think you mean the desk in the bedroom I pretend is a study even though I do all my work right here on the breakfast bench," Santana clarified. "Feel free, sometimes I'm secretly glad desks can't feel neglect, coz mine would be hating me so bad."

"Well, I promise I'll show it some love while I'm here," Quinn said.

"That smells amazing," Santana said as Quinn put two plates down. "Best houseguest in the world." They ate on stools at the bench. "Book five huh?"

"It's prom and Nationals," Quinn said. "Just drawing up where I want the stories to intersect."

"I feel better about book five then, because prom was awesome, and nationals was just as good. Are you changing it?"

"That really depends on Kurt," Quinn said. "I need to talk to him when we get to New York next weekend. I think what happened to him junior year would work really well in the story, changed up a bit. But if it's too raw for him, I won't do it."

"So, after breakfast, we're going out. Comfortable shoes," Santana said. "Promise I'll even get out of my pajamas." They finished breakfast and Santana showered and changed as Quinn tidied the kitchen. Santana called a cab, and they met it on the street. She leaned forward and gave the destination to the driver so that Quinn couldn't hear. It wasn't a long ride.

"The Museum of Contemporary Art?" Quinn asked as they got out. "You've really changed, San, you used to hate museums."

"Still do, though it's more a dislike than hate," she replied. "But you don't. And you're my guest. You're gonna love this crap, I came here with one of the partners to schmooze some clients once."

"You're going to spend the whole day walking around an art museum with me?"

"Uh, yeah, I am. Provided you stop asking questions and we make it inside sometime soon." Quinn just gave her a curious look that she could only half see behind her sunglasses, and they went inside.

Santana was right. Quinn loved the art. At one point, she found the blonde staring at a painting, with her silver flats kicked off to one side. When she queried the bare feet, Quinn just shrugged and said it felt better looking at the piece with her shoes off.

"That's the difference between us," Santana said. "I see a bunch of photos hung too close together, and you get all inspired and take your shoes off. And you have no idea how clean, or dirty, those floors are." Quinn slipped back into her shoes, winked and moved on to the next piece. Santana watched her, enjoying seeing Quinn immerse herself in the pieces more than she was enjoying the pieces herself. She quickly learned not to talk if Quinn had her head tilted to the right, because she was thinking. She listened to what she said about every piece, even though she was sure Quinn wasn't talking to her.

It was mid afternoon when they left, and Quinn had a sated look on her face. Santana was happy to know she'd picked a good day out, especially since the next day was going to be sitting on their asses at a baseball field, eating unhealthily and experiencing a whole other side of American culture.

They went out for dinner to a place that did Portuguese style chicken, ate with their hands and drank cold beer. The restaurant was close to home, and they braved the slight chill to walk back to the apartment.

"Today was a lot of fun," Quinn said as they finally made it back inside.

"I thought so, too," Santana said. "Except now I'm colder that I would like."

"I'll make tea," Quinn said. "Because I'm sure you've had enough coffee today, and it will keep you up." She made some tea and they sat on the couch, Quinn leaning against Santana's shoulders as they watched re-runs of Scrubs.

Santana was paying no attention to whatever neurotic meltdown Elliot was having on screen, because she was having her own mental neurotic meltdown. This thing with Quinn, the museum, the looks, the way they were sitting right now on the couch. It was almost like they were together, and Santana was desperately freaking out. When Scrubs ended, she came up with a line about beer giving her a headache and called it a night, but didn't sleep much.

One of these days, and she could feel it was going to be soon, she was going to start running her mouth about very specific things she knew about herself but didn't like talking about. It was no secret that there were limits on the amount of self disclosure Santana was comfortable with. For example, everyone at work knew she was a lesbian, but she never told them she was dating someone, because of all the questions that accompany that admission. She rolled over, sighed, and tried to push everything out of her mind, until she fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Santana watched Quinn as her boss was explaining some of the rules of baseball to her. The corporate box was about half full, John Caulfield had brought his wife and two kids, and had been more than happy when Santana and Quinn had arrived. His kids were fourteen and nine. Then Warner Hayes had brought two of the interns as a reward for some crazy challenge he'd cooked up, knowing Warner it was probably a mock pitch of some kind.

Quinn knew a little about baseball, but not enough to be considered an expert. Santana knew a little more than Quinn, but not enough to fill her in. So Caulfield had taken over, and Santana was talking to the always-entertaining Anna Caulfield, while the others were intently watching the game.

"So, your friend Quinn," she was saying in a leading fashion.

"Is one of my oldest friends in all the world," Santana said, not wanting to give anything away. "We've been friends since we were in elementary school together." Anna nodded.

"A long time," she said. Quinn and John Caulfield joined the conversation, having absorbed plenty of information.

"Not that long," she said. "Don't make me feel old."

"What do you do, Quinn?" Anna asked.

"I'm a writer," she said. Then she blushed immensely, because the Caulfield's daughter had pulled out an iPod and a book from her bag, and the book was number three of The Offbeats.

"What?" Santana said. She looked around at Emma. "Oh." Anna was confused.

"Are we missing something?"

"Quinn wrote the book your daughter's reading," Santana said, half proudly. John looked at her, and Emma suddenly turned around.

"Serious?" she said.

"Ummm," Quinn said. "Yes. I did. I can never answer that without feeling awkward."

"You realize these are like, the best books ever, right?" Emma said. "Everyone I know is reading them. I'm going to be the coolest person ever, when I tell my friends I met you. Can you sign my book?"

"Emma," Anna said. "Quinn probably gets asked-"

"No, no, of course I will," Quinn said. "Since I wrote them under a different name, I don't get asked for signatures as much as you'd think."

"Awesome," Emma said. Quinn took the book and wrote inside the front cover.

_For Emma,_

_Here's the hot tip for book four – keep the tissues handy. Thanks for watching the White Sox with me. And last of all, make sure you and your friends know how lucky you are to have each other, just like The Offbeats._

_Lucy Beaumont._

"If your name is Quinn, why did you write them under Lucy?" Emma asked.

"That's a good question," Quinn said. "I wanted to be able to do simple things like go to the bank and the doctor without getting recognized. I love to write, but I don't necessarily want everyone following me around every second for the rest of my life."

"That's smart," Emma said. "Thanks for signing my book. Why am I going to need tissues for book four? If you kill Blake, I'll be so upset." Santana laughed. Blake was the character loosely based on Puck.

"I promise nobody dies," Quinn said.

"But listen to her kid, I got a preview and I sobbed," Santana said, winking. Quinn and Emma began talking about their favorite books as kids, and Santana went to find some mineral water in the bar.

"I call bullshit," Anna said. She was standing on the other side of the bar. Santana offered her a drink also. "Bullshit on Quinn being your friend."

"Seriously," Santana said. "Right now we are friends."

"Which makes it sound like there's something later that might be more than friends," Anna said. Santana considered Anna a friend, so she decided she may as well chat.

"In business speak," Santana said, "I guess you could call it the negotiation stage. We're examining the possibilities, I guess. We have some history to sort through, and some is an understatement."

"And you care about her?"

"I've never not cared about her," Santana said absently as she glanced back at the blonde, currently making a fourteen year old girl the happiest person alive. "We've known each other for twenty years."

"Well," Anna said, "I know it counts for nothing, but I'm a fan of anyone who convinces more teenagers to read, and bonus points for getting my kid to smile."

"Quinn, has anyone ever gotten mad at you for writing the books? I mean, they're for teenagers, right, but they're not really kids books," Emma was saying. "Sort of intense, you know."

"I thought about trying to tell some of the stories in a lighter way," Quinn said. "But some of these things, they happened to people I know, and there's nothing light about it. And in some cases, we were about your age when they started to happen. I wanted the books to create a dialogue, a way for people like you to start a conversation with your parents."

"See that?" Anna said. "She's talking to her like an adult. I know it sounds clichéd, but they grow up too fast."

"So, yeah," Quinn was continuing, "I do occasionally hear from people who think I'm trying to steal childhood or something, but I don't mind. If someone had talked to the kids in my high school about depression, sex, homosexuality, bullying, all that stuff, it might have been a different place."

"You're totally cool, Quinn," Emma said. "People think we're too young to have serious conversations. You know my friend Justin told everyone that he was gay after reading the books? Seth inspired him not to hide any more."

"And that," Quinn said, "Makes it all worthwhile."

"I mean, we pretty much suspected. He's got nicer hair than me, his jeans are tighter and he wants to be Lady Gaga's next hair stylist," she rolled her eyes. "He can't wait for book four, he's convinced Seth gets a boyfriend."

"So you know what's in book four?" Anna asked Santana.

"I do," she said. "Try and read it while she does. It's heavy." Quinn turned around looking for Santana, and got up, coming over to them.

"Emma is awesome," she said to Anna. "I always love finding kids like me who loved to read and like thinking about things."

"That was you all over," Santana said.

"Well, thanks," Anna said. "I guess I get some of the credit." She smiled and left the two of them alone, going to sit next to her daughter. Santana put a hand on Quinn's arm.

"You were really good with her," Santana said. "It was awesome to watch."

"I like kids," Quinn said. "I thought about teaching English down the road, still might. We talked favorite books, she gave me the name of a poet to look up. I swore her to secrecy about my real name, and she swears on the life of her dog she won't betray my trust."

"Well, if you taught English, you'd be amazing at it," Santana said. "She was hanging on your every word and you were just chatting about books." Quinn looked down and Santana realized she still had a hand on her arm, fingertips lightly running over her skin. She moved her hand away.

"You didn't have to stop," Quinn said softly enough that no-one would hear.

"We have to talk before we do anything like…" Santana trailed off. "I don't know, whatever we're doing. There are things I have to say."

"Fair call," Quinn said. "That's what we agreed on, it's just, well… it felt nice." There was a cheer from the front of the box as someone hit a home run and put the White Sox in front.

"Oh, yeah, there's a baseball game," Santana said, like she just remembered.

"We'll talk soon," Quinn said. "Maybe after New York?"

"Sure." Santana's heart thudded hard and fast. That was a time frame, fixed, set, and she'd agreed to it. That scared the life out of her. She snagged a bag of pretzels and sat down with Quinn and the interns to watch the end of the game. She tried to concentrate, but all she could do was wish for next weekend, for New York, and then... she didn't know.


	13. Chapter 13

Blaine saw Santana first, and waved excitedly, like a kid would. Kurt was much more reserved in his greeting of them both.

"Hey," he said, scooping Santana up in a massive hug. "I've missed you, San. You need to get here more often and save me from the never ending drama of Kurtchel." He gave Quinn a far less intense hug. "And Quinn, it's always awesome to hear from you. Seeing you is better. You're still gorgeous."

"Blaine," she said, blushing. Kurt interrupted whatever thought she was having.

"Own it Fabray, you've always been one of the hottest people in a room at any given time," he said. "Actually, the four of us, we might just kill everyone."

"See what I mean?" Blaine said. Santana punched him in the arm.

"Come on, Anderson, you'll live. Especially since you'll be spending every waking hour at rehearsals. Congratulations on Godot, my man. I'll be back to see it when it opens," she said.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm super excited, it's one of my favorite plays."

"Mine too," Quinn said. "It's a fascinating study of the ability to have a lot of, and very little time, simultaneously."

"You lost me," Santana said. "I've never seen it, or read it, English major. Fill me in." Quinn quickly explained the story of the men who were waiting for someone who may or may not be coming, and how the point of the story becomes nothing to do with Godot, but the point of waiting for something that isn't guaranteed, and never doing anything about finding what you were waiting for in the first place. Santana shrugged.

"Blaine, I promise I'll see you in it, because you are amazing. But it sounds depressing," she said. "So, guys, what's the plan for tonight?"

"Well," Kurt said, "You and Quinn are staying with us, because we have two spare beds, and Rachel has one. Mike and Tina are coming into town now, and they're going to stay with Rachel. We'll meet them for an afternoon drinks into dinner type soiree."

"Mike and Tina," Quinn said. "Wow."

"When do you have to be back at work?" Blaine asked.

"Tuesday," Santana said. "I swung Monday off by promising my soul to a colleague. Thank god I've got more than a million sick and holiday hours." She had managed to get both Friday and Monday off by swearing to Warner that she would take the interns for the full four days when she returned.

"Awesome," Blaine said.

"I've missed you, too, Blaine," Santana said.

"Rachel tells me you broke up with the redhead," he said. Kurt and Quinn were walking ahead of them slightly.

"We broke up mutually," she said. "She wanted me at home all the time, I didn't want to have to give up my career for her, because it's what I love. We just weren't compatible, in the end."

"And then she said something about Quinn," Blaine said. Santana groaned.

"Don't tell me she's planning on a lecture," she said.

"Not quite," Blaine said. "She wants you to be happy. That's all. I told her I'd talk to you, but she wasn't getting any filthy details. Are there filthy details?"

"No," Santana said. "Nothing filthy. Just messy, and complicated. But not now, with the talking. But I should talk, I need to. And Quinn and I are planning on talking but it feels like the longer we put it off the more intense it might get."

"Understandable," he said. "Twenty years of backstory is a lot." Kurt had seemingly managed to lose their parking slip and was frantically searching every pocket on his coat for it. Blaine plucked it from the back pocket of Kurt's jeans and shook his head. They loaded the girl's luggage into the car and Blaine drove them to their place.

It was a perfect two-story townhouse with Kurt's impeccable styling. Santana had been there before, but Kurt gave Quinn the extended tour while Santana and Blaine took the bags upstairs.

"Which room?" Blaine said.

"I'll let Q pick," she said. "Her back gives her shit sometimes, she needs a good mattress." The two guest rooms were on the upper level, and the master was downstairs, meaning that Quinn and Santana had the upper floor to themselves. Santana let Quinn check out the mattresses.

"They're the same mattress," she said, flopping on to the second one. "This one might be a tad newer because it's a little firmer."

"Then it's all yours," Santana said. "How's your back after the flight?"

"Fine," Quinn said. "Nothing a short walk around the block won't fix." Kurt overheard and dragged Quinn out the door, shouting that they would bring back coffee.

"So," Blaine said, as they settled on to the couch. "What the hell is going on with you two?"

"It's to be determined," Santana said. "We haven't slept together, or even made out. But we catch ourselves in couple moments all the time. In Seattle, she told me that she used to be in love with me."

"And you, being you," Blaine said, "freaked out internally and then made a joke?" Santana nodded.

"I won't spill the details of it," she said. "But in true Santana fashion, I changed the subject with a joke. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"What's wrong with you needs hours on a therapists couch," Blaine teased. "No, seriously, San. Here's what I know. The last person you loved, really loved, was Britt. And you thought she loved you back, only she kinda didn't."

"Not kinda, Blaine, she didn't," Santana said.

"So when Quinn shows up and admits that she'd always been in love with you back then, you freak out because the last person you heard that from was telling a dirty lie. But, and there is a but, you're not helping yourself because now you don't really want to talk about love, because you're scared if you do give love a chance, you feel like it's going to backfire again."

"You're an astute man, Anderson," she said. "Of course I'm scared. Britt fucking burned me alive. So no, I don't like the idea of love very much. When shit got intense with Penny, I could have told her I loved her. It might have been true. But I didn't want to do that, so I bailed in my head, treated her like an asshole and made it fifty times more painful than it should have been. But I've spent so long running from the idea of love… I feel like it's always going to be easier to push it away and be safe instead of opening up and getting reamed again."

"Then the next question is this: Do you honestly think Quinn is out to hurt you?" Blaine asked.

"No, but tell that to my brain," Santana said. "Plus, she said loved past tense, not present."

"But she flew to Chicago on a whim because you asked her to." He smiled. "Why don't you let me judge whether or not she's into you? Actually, Kurt will be able to tell, he's got an extra sense. Final question: And how exactly do you feel about Quinn?"

"I never thought about Quinn like that," Santana said. "I never got the slightest hint she was anything other than hetero, you know? But she literally knows everything about me. And she's gorgeous. And the moment I laid eyes on her across the lobby of the Pan Pac in Seattle, I knew things were different. She is, I am, we are…" She didn't fill him in on their post-Brittany makeout session, which is what caused them to not speak for years.

"Complicated," Blaine said. They heard movement at the front door. "Let's continue this later." Kurt and Quinn came back in with coffee and a tray of cupcakes.

"There's this place down the street a way," Kurt said. "It's called Awesome Cake and Coffee. Most literal name in the world, and thankfully, they're right. Awesome coffee and even more awesome cupcakes." Quinn put them on the table, and Kurt put a large drip coffee in front of her.

"These cupcakes," Blaine said, "We've had to restrict ourselves to getting them when we have guests, otherwise we would both be the size of a car by now."

"Quinn said you like just about anything that's sickeningly sweet, so we got some peanut butter fudge cakes," Kurt said. Blaine picked a white one up.

"I'm a fan of the lemon cream pie cake, myself," he said. The girls found the boys raving about the cupcakes to be incredibly accurate, and they sat around playing catch up until it was time to get ready to meet Mike, Tina and Rachel. They were doing drinks and dinner at the Old Emory, an old building that used to be a tiny theatre in the 1920's, and Rachel and Kurt were almost icons there.

Santana and Blaine were waiting downstairs for Quinn and Kurt. Blaine lamented that Kurt would forever be the last person ready for any occasion, probably including his own funeral. Quinn came down the stairs, as softly as she did everything else, in a pale blue dress that made Santana's heart flutter. Blaine took one look at her and patted her hand as Quinn searched for her purse.

"Oh, sweetie," he said softly. "You are in a world of trouble. The look on your face."

"Quiet," she warned. "Admittedly, she looks… wow. But-"

"But nothing," Blaine said. "Wait, here comes Kurt." Clearly they had been waiting for Kurt to correct some errant strands of hair, because he was wearing the exact same thing Santana had seen him in when she came downstairs fifteen minutes ago.

"We ready?" Kurt said. Quinn returned with her purse, and they left to meet up with the others.


	14. Chapter 14

Mike, Tina and Rachel were already seated at a big round booth in the back. Rachel had taken the liberty of ordering some wine for them all, except Kurt, who still didn't like alcohol and they spent the first hour of the night catching up with each other. Mike and Tina had read Quinn's books, and were trying to extract book four's details from her. Kurt was pretending like the books weren't bothering him one way or another, but when Quinn mentioned that she wanted to speak to him about book five, he suddenly changed his tune.

As for Mike and Tina, they were living in Los Angeles, but Mike was here to do a special dance program for Tisch. Tina was a photographer now, and could pretty much do whatever she wanted, so she'd come, and fate would have it that they were in town just as Rachel wanted to throw a celebration dinner for Blaine. Santana and Mike had always gotten along, but watching Quinn with Rachel and Tina made her smile. Quinn was happy, she was laughing. It was the first time she'd entertained the thought that when Quinn had bolted suddenly that day, it wasn't just Santana she'd run from.

A while later, Quinn, Kurt and Rachel were talking by the bar, ordering everyone's meals. Tina and Mike were slow dancing with some older couples in the middle of the room. Blaine was contentedly leaning back, and Santana just laughed at him.

"Check you out, big shot," she said. "Promise you won't forget me when you're a big time, Oscar winning actor."

"I won't forget you," he said. "Now, write down your name, so I can be sure to spell it right on your autograph." They laughed, and even from across the room, Santana had her eyes on Quinn.

"So," Blaine said, "You haven't been able to take your eyes off Quinn since you saw her in that dress."

"It's the exact same color as the dress she wore to junior prom," Santana said. "I remembered that the second I saw the dress, and we were having one of our legendary not-talking moments then."

"So what you're saying is…"

"Anyone with a brain thinks she's beautiful, that's not the issue," Santana said. She massaged her temples. "God damn some days I hate Brittany for fucking me up so hard I can't even remember what love feels like; I feel like I should know, but I don't think I do anymore."

"It's okay," Blaine said, consolingly. "Hey, Santana, look at me. Quinn was there when all of this happened. She knows what it's been like for you since Brittany. So maybe when you talk to her, you don't have to have some gigantic confession of love."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think that's what she's looking for," Blaine said. "I'd probably just tell her that after Britt, and even probably after Penny, it's going to take you a while, but you want to try. You do want to try, don't you?"

"I do," Santana whispered. A tear escaped the corner of one eye, and Blaine swatted it with a napkin. "But I think I'm broken."

"And you don't think she is?" he said, patting the napkin under her eyes. "Jesus, Santana, have you not heard of waterproof mascara? Look, the pair of you might be colossally screwed. But that means nothing when it comes to love. Means you have someone to sit on the porch with when you're watching the world fall down."

"For the record," Santana said. "I love you, Blaine. I should come here more often, you'd have my whole life sorted out by now."

"I love you, too, Santana," he said, kissing her forehead. "And yes, you should. Now, reign it in, everyone will be on their way back."

"So," Rachel said to Quinn quietly. "What's with all the _whatever_ with you and San?"

"I'm sorry?" Quinn asked. Kurt was pointing at the menu.

"Quinn," Rachel said. "It's almost tangible. Let's be honest. You and Santana, spill."

"As of this moment, nothing," Quinn said. Rachel gave her an eyebrow that clearly indicated she didn't believe that for a second. "Look, I don't know. There's – stuff."

"Of course there's stuff," Rachel said. "You two have been friends for twenty years. There would have to be stuff. In high school you guys managed to be best friends and mortal enemies on a daily basis." Kurt turned and asked for an opinion on a dish, and Rachel helped him choose.

"I know," Quinn said. "And I've always loved her more than I hated her."

"But the question is, what kind of love, and what about now?" Rachel said. "Because she's been staring at you all night, looking both enchanted and wistful at the same time." She angled Quinn's body so that she could see the reflections of Blaine and Santana in the mirror. She watched them for a moment. Clearly they were having an important conversation, because instead of talking with her hands, Santana's fingers were tightly wrapped in a napkin, a nervous habit she'd had forever.

"I could get into it," Quinn said, "But there's more to the story than you would think."

"So I assumed," Rachel said. "I don't need to hear the story. You two need to get off your asses and have some serious discussions. Because according to her, you're still beautiful, but probably lonely. And Santana, well, she's hot as hell, but damaged, and consequently afraid. It'll be a dance, but it might be worth it." Kurt turned around again and Rachel stepped up to the counter.

Quinn just glanced back into the mirror. She could see Blaine leaning in and wiping at Santana's cheeks. _Oh. She looks upset._ She felt bad, that maybe she was contributing to it. She decided that maybe waiting until after New York was not ideal, because the thought of Santana being upset for a minute longer didn't sit well with her.

She walked back to the table, past Mike and Tina who were engaged in friendly dance-floor chatter with some strangers, and sat down next to Santana. Kurt and Rachel followed soon after, signaling to the other two that the food wouldn't be long. They rejoined the table, and Mike poured water for everyone. Santana was smiling at the chatter and laughter at the table, but Quinn wasn't convinced. She put a hand on Santana's knee, under the table – no point in alerting everyone to an already confusing situation. Santana turned her head slightly, and Quinn felt the brunette's fingers scramble to interlock with hers. Quinn squeezed the fingers, and found that Santana wouldn't let her remove her hand. She just tugged on it, sort of. Quinn left her hand there, letting Santana grip it tightly. When the food arrived, Santana looked at her, and gave a tiny smile before relinquishing her hand.


	15. Chapter 15

The night ended late, more morning than night, and the taxi ride back to the boys' house was quiet, save for Kurt softly crooning along with Dean Martin on the radio. Once they'd gotten inside, Kurt disappeared into the kitchen and returned with some bottles of water.

"Now, all three of you, no sleeping until you drink it all. Because whilst I don't particularly care if you drink, I do care if you're all cranky, hungover messes in the morning," he said. "And when you wake up, two aspirin and some orange juice. Nothing else."

"You sound like my mom," Quinn said.

"Listen to him," Blaine said. "I don't know how he knows since he doesn't even drink, but it makes everything better."

"I'm not even drunk," Santana said. "A little tipsy maybe."

"Still," Kurt said, handing her the water. "Trust me." They took the bottles and the boys went upstairs. Quinn just looked at the bottle in her hands.

"How did Kurt end up being the mother figure in our wacky little circle of friends?" she asked. "And when did Rachel mellow out? I mean, she's still intense about the Broadway thing, but she's not so…"

"Aggressive," Santana said. "I don't remember, but I'm glad it happened. And god it was good seeing Mike and Tina."

"They're adorable, still." Quinn drank some of her water, and closed her eyes. "Can we talk?"

"I think it's probably about time we did," Santana said. "Except we've both been drinking. How do you feel about drunken confessions?"

"Is this a legitimate query, or are you trying to avoid the conversation?" Quinn asked. Santana winced.

"Fair call," she said. She took Quinn's hand. "Look, I want to tell you what's going on in my head tonight. I do, right now. But I'm tipsy, and you're worse than I am. So I'm promising you, tomorrow, regardless of whatever kind of hangover we have, we're going to sit down and have a proper, likely to be teary discussion. Okay?"

"Okay," Quinn said. "I just – you looked upset tonight, and I didn't like it."

"Oh," Santana said. "That's sweet. But I can explain it, and it's not anything to be worried about."

"As long as you're sure," Quinn said. She picked up her water. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Sure," Santana said. "And Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I didn't tell you earlier, but you look beautiful tonight. I like that dress. Same color you wore to junior prom." Quinn bit her lip, and then suddenly hugged Santana, wrapping her arms around the girls neck. Santana's arms locked around Quinn's waist, and they just stood like that for a moment, swaying slightly.

"I can't believe you remember that after all these years," Quinn said softly. She kissed Santana's cheek. "Good night."

"Good night," Santana said. She took her bottle of water to her room and set it on the nightstand. She managed to get undressed and hang her dress over the back of a chair, and pull a t-shirt out of her bag before she crawled into bed and fell asleep.

It was six am when she woke up, and her head was pounding. Not the most hungover she'd ever been, but not ideal. She stumbled into the bathroom to wash her face, and found a bottle of aspirin on the counter. It had a post it note attached: _Q & S – Trust me. OJ in the fridge. K._ Santana downed two aspirin with water from the faucet and decided she'd indulge Kurt, padding into the kitchen to grab an orange juice. Kurt was reading the paper at the kitchen table, and Santana suddenly remembered she only had a t-shirt and underwear on.

"Please," he said as she tried to cover herself up. "I'm not looking, and I've seen it all before."

"Sorry," she said. "Just taking your advice on the orange juice."

"Good girl," he said, not looking up from the page he was reading. "I'll see you in a couple more hours." She grabbed a bottle of juice and headed back to her room. She drank it slowly, then decided more sleep wasn't such a bad idea.

It was eight thirty the second time she woke up. She could hear more than one voice out in the kitchen, and this time decided to shower and put actual clothes on before she went out. She set the water temperature to boiling hot, and realized Kurt's magic hangover cure was right on the money. She felt much better. She showered and threw some jeans and a top on. Blaine was making toast, and Kurt was pouring black coffee.

"No milk," he said. "Not til you eat."

"I will do whatever you want me to do, Yoda," she said. "I'm remembering that trick." They heard doors opening and closing as Quinn got up and went into the bathroom. Santana drank two cups of black coffee before braving some toast.

"What's on your agenda today?" Kurt asked. "Made any plans?"

"Not specifically," Santana said. "I was thinking Quinn and I might lay low today."

"Well, Blaine and I have a few errands to run," Kurt said. "I'll call you later and maybe we'll do lunch? Then tonight, I'm cooking."

"Are you sure you don't want me to cook?" Santana said.

"They want to be able to eat it," Quinn said, coming into the room. "No, seriously Kurt, let us, as a thank you."

"Good luck with that," Blaine said. "The kitchen is his domain."

"Fine, then we buy dessert," Quinn said, taking some coffee from Blaine. Kurt waved his hand in acknowledgement. The two men tidied up after themselves and Quinn and Santana finished a quiet breakfast as they heard them leaving the house.

"How are you feeling?" Santana asked.

"Surprisingly good," Quinn said. "Kurt's on to something here."

"Right?" Santana said. She put her mug and plate in the dishwasher, and sat down opposite Quinn. "Want to talk?" Quinn nodded as she swallowed the last of her coffee.

"Let me get rid of this. Living room?" Santana nodded, took a deep breath, and followed Quinn into the living room.


	16. Chapter 16

"Firstly," Santana said. "I need you to know why I kissed you, when the shit with Brittany happened." They were sitting together on the couch. Santana had pulled a cushion on to her lap, and was squeezing it.

"Start wherever you like," Quinn said.

"Brittany fucked me up," she said. "In a big way. When I realized that Pete wasn't just staying at her house, but in her bed, it was like I was being burned alive from the inside out. Breathing hurt. Moving. Thinking. Because I'd invested in Britt. Years. And all the fucking love I had. Finding out I was her 'as well as' instead of her one and only… So you know what happened next. I didn't function. Berry got worried, Blaine got worried. They called you. Of all the people in the world."

"You made it better," she continued. "You waited. You listened, but you never pressed. You literally took care of me. And then we went out to a bar, got a little drunk. And the next morning I woke up, and you were still sleeping. I started thinking about how much of an inconvenience it would have been for you to ditch New Haven, and run to Chicago because I was freaking out."

"You're not an inconvenience," Quinn said.

"But that's what I mean," Santana said. "You never once saw it as an inconvenience, but I know it would have been. And I just started thinking, you know, that's the kind of fucking girlfriend I want. Who's going to understand that even if I freak out, it doesn't mean I want things to end. Because if I'm going to be honest, I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to deal with some stuff. Like abuela. She still won't speak to me, ten years later. And so I have some problems talking about myself. Britt saw it as a sign that she should move on. But you came to me."

"So here I am, thinking about how I want my next girlfriend to be just like you. Open, caring, patient – because I need someone who's going to be patient with me, beautiful, funny and smart. And then I realize that the girl I described, you, you're right in my fucking bed. And it sounds dumb, but I was all, 'Quinn's a girl just like Quinn'. And you sort of just rolled over and smiled at me, all half asleep, biting your lip, and I figured, fuck it, and kissed you."

"Wait, what?" Quinn said.

"I wanted my next girlfriend to love me the way you did," Santana said. "Even when we hated each other, we loved each other. And I thought kissing you would be a fantastic idea. Because at that very point in my life, I didn't feel like anyone else in the world loved me like that."

"Santana, your parents love you, and Rachel, and Blaine."

"Yeah my folks love me," she said, "But it's not the same. They still won't talk about me with abuela. I don't get invited to family occasions if she's going to be there. She has a hand on everyone in the family. And Blaine is quite literally one of my favorite people on the planet, and Berry I guess. But love is more than that for me. It's unconditional, doesn't change over time and space."

"Are you saying you loved me, too?"

"I honestly don't know," Santana said. "But that's not because of you. It's because of me. And abuela, and Britt. And now it's more complicated by Penny, who probably has more to do with this than I care to admit."

"Do you want to tell me about Penny?" Quinn said.

"Penny was probably the only other girl who came close to Britt," Santana said. "She was awesome. I met her in an elevator, at work. Her sister used to work in our payroll office. She and I got in on the ground floor, and she was going to twelve, me thirteen. Six floors up, I forgot I wasn't alone and started singing to the radio. She said I had a great voice, I got embarrassed. She asked her sister about me. We got intense kind of fast, I guess. She was both a lot like, and unlike Britt. Fearless. Gorgeous. But very contemplative. A thinker. The weekend I turned twenty five, we had also been together a year. She surprised me with tickets to Fleetwood Mac. And we went back to her place after, and for the first time, I thought I might be capable of love again."

"What happened with that?"

"Well, being me, I didn't tell her that. And I wanted to, but I didn't get the chance. It wasn't even two months later when she said she couldn't stay with me. Her parents were _starting to suspect_ she might be gay, and she had to get married to prove them wrong."

"What the fuck?" Santana couldn't believe Quinn had just dropped the f-bomb. "She wasn't out?"

"Nope," Santana said. "Not to her folks. I snapped. Worse than with Britt. Rachel, Kurt and Blaine had to come and drag me out of my hole, and it took weeks. Because Britt had broken my heart, sure, but I don't doubt that she cared for me at some point. But Penny, she basically decided that marrying someone she wasn't even attracted to was a better idea than staying with me." Quinn took Santana's hand, brushing her thumb over the back of her knuckles.

"So we have abuela who, despite us being family, refuses to acknowledge that I exist, Brittany who fucking lied to me and broke my heart, and Penny who decides that pretending to be straight is better than loving me publicly," Santana counted out. "So when I tell you that I don't know if I love you, it's not because of you. Apart from that whole not really speaking for a few years, you've been one person I never doubted had my best interest at heart. I just don't know if I can even love any more." Santana began to cry. "It's just taken everything out of me, and I half ignored, half repressed any kind of love, because it's only ever ended badly. And that fucking blows, I've had enough. But I don't know if I know how to be any other way, or if I even remember what love feels like. Because every fucking person who loves me ends up ripping my heart out, and I don't know if I can do that again."

"When you told me that you loved me I cracked a joke about you being a good kisser," Santana continued, "Because I honestly feel like love is a joke for me now. Maybe the fucking joke is that Santana Lopez thought there might be love in the world for her at all."

"Jesus," Quinn said. She grabbed a box of tissues from the lamp table, and took one out, handing it to the brunette. "Santana… I don't even know what to say. Because I'm heartbroken for you. And I feel like an asshole for leaving you after the Britt thing, and I kind of want to punch a lot of people in the face."

"And so when I kissed you," Santana said, "It was more about wanting someone who wasn't going to hurt me, and you were the only person I knew who wouldn't hurt me. Which was not the right reason to kiss you, regardless of how god damn awesome it was at the time."

"But then I did hurt you, because I ran," Quinn said. She began to cry, too. "Because I thought that there was no chance you'd ever feel like I did, and I didn't want us to become those friends who screwed up the best friendship ever because of a girl who cheated on you and the night before's vodka."

"I don't blame you for leaving," Santana said. "When I get that way, it's not fun. I'm a surly bitch, and I make bad decisions. But Rachel emailed me one day and it was like the universe was telling me we weren't done."

"Rachel started this?"

"She was pissed about your books, and made me read them. Then I called you, and then I saw you. And you were every bit as beautiful as you have always been, and we picked up like we'd never been apart."

"When I realized you were on the phone, I almost puked out of nerves," Quinn admitted. "Because I felt like I owed it to you to tell you that I loved you back then, and the universe was basically calling me chicken."

"I'm not going to lie, Quinn, you're beautiful, and you're smart and you care about people. You literally know everything about me and you're still here. But I'm so fucking terrified of love now, and although I'm pretty sure there's love somewhere here, I just need to know… Is it too late? Or do you still love me enough that we might make something out of nothing?" She met Quinn's teary gaze. "Or is it insane of me to even ask?"

"Santana," Quinn said, "Of course I still love you." She closed her eyes.

"I've spent years trying not to still be in love with you. It might have even worked, if you hadn't called me that day. But when you walked across the lobby of your hotel, I knew I still loved you. You and your sarcasm, your tight jeans and short dresses, your heart as big as the sun. I knew I still loved you because all I could do was berate myself internally for being so stupid and walking out of your life altogether."

"You're not stupid," Santana said.

"No, but I'm equally as screwed up as you are, and that's a fact," Quinn said. "The only thing that stops me from disappearing into my own head is a bottle of pills, most days. But you – I think this might be some unfair pressure here – you are quite literally the only thing that makes me happy, one hundred percent. Happiness is something that I've been pretty good at pretending at for a while now, but I've gotta say, it's nothing." Both of them were crying hard.

"So we've established that we're both messed up," Santana said. "But that doesn't mean we couldn't be amazing together."

"You just have to remind me not to disappear into my own head," Quinn said, moving closer to the brunette.

"And you have to remind me that you're not going to hurt me," Santana said seriously. "Because I'm going to freak out about that. A lot, and it's not that-"

"I know," Quinn said. "I swear to god, I'll tell you every day." She wiped the tears from Santana's cheek. "Because I won't hurt you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did that."

"You know," Santana said, "I feel like we're moving at some ridiculous speed, but that can't be true because it's been forever. Is that weird? Should we be moving slower?"

"I don't think we could do the slow thing," Quinn said. "Because people go slow when they're getting to know each other, and I already know everything about you."

"And I already know everything about you," Santana said. "I promise to pull you out of your funks, and make you happy."

"And I promise to never hurt you, and to never leave again, no matter how insane you get," Quinn said. She smiled, and despite the tears and puffy eyes, Santana was struck by how beautiful she was, especially when she was pouring her guts out.

"I would love to kiss you right now," Santana said, "But I think I'd rather if I could just, maybe, hold you for a while?" Quinn smiled again, radiantly through the tears. She swiveled on the couch and leaned in to Santana, who pulled her in and wrapped her arms around her. Quinn's hand found hers, and she pressed a kiss to the back of it. Santana's heart thudded, beating to remind her that this was right, this was right, this was right. Her head was silent for once, and she just closed her eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

Blaine and Kurt were taking the groceries to the car when Kurt remembered they'd made tentative lunch plans with the girls.

"What do you want to do?" he asked Blaine. "I'm sure there are going to be opinions as to what constitutes the best hangover food. Maybe we should just go pick the girls up and we'll find a place."

"Well," Blaine said, "I think we should text them and tell them we're on our way. You know."

"Blaine Anderson, you better not be telling me that Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez are having sex in one of our guest beds," Kurt said. "Wait, WHAT?"

"No, no sex," he said, "At least, I highly doubt it. But they're likely to be having one of those conversations that you don't necessarily want interrupted. Because they're, well, I don't know what they are, which is the point of the conversation."

"Quinn's still in love with Santana," Kurt mused. "Wow, that's been a long time coming."

"Now it's your turn to explain," Blaine said, getting in the drivers seat.

"When we were at school, I kind of always felt like Quinn had a thing for Santana. But she was kind of a mess then, and she didn't really feel like she could compete with Britt, so she just let them be."

"So you've known about this for, like, ten years?"

"I knew about it ten years ago," he said. "Slight difference. So that's a thing, huh? Jeez, I didn't think Santana would go there again."

"Again, the point of the conversation," Blaine said. "She wants to, but she doesn't even know if she can." Kurt pulled out his phone and texted Santana.

"Take the long way, honey," he said to Blaine. "In case they need to compose themselves."

"San?" Quinn whispered. They had barely moved in over an hour.

"Yeah?"

"I hope that's your phone vibrating in your pocket, or someone's planted a bomb in Kurt's couch," she said.

"I was ignoring it," Santana said. Quinn shifted so she could pull it out of her pocket. "But I guess we did agree to meet the boys for lunch. Kurt. Picked up groceries, will be home in twenty."

"And we still have some more talking to do," Quinn said. "About what we do from here. But most important question is, are we going to be _together_ together now?" She stood up and stretched.

"If you're asking," Santana said, also standing, "Am I going to want to take you out, hold your hand in public and let everyone know you're mine, the answer is hell yes we're together."

"But Blaine and Kurt-"

"Blaine knows exactly enough," Santana said, "And Kurt would now, by default. They just want us to be happy."

"Then I should probably tell you I talked to Rachel last night," Quinn said worriedly. Santana reached up and brushed some hair out of Quinn's face.

"You're even beautiful when you're worrying about nothing," she said.

"Please, I'm sure I'm puffy and red," Quinn protested. Santana shook her head.

"Even still," she said. "You always seem to dismiss it when people tell you you're beautiful."

"Oh, we could really go into some of my therapy here," Quinn laughed. "I'm trying to break the habit. When all you hear growing up is how beautiful you are, and all you feel are the million ways in which you aren't, it can get ugly."

"So I should remind you that you're beautiful every day, too?" Santana said. "I'll add it to the list. I can serenade you, even."

"Okay, now you're being silly," Quinn said, and Santana laughed. It was infectious, and soon Quinn was laughing again. Without warning, she pulled Santana in and kissed her deeply. "Thank you."

"For what? Being an idiot?"

"For making me laugh," Quinn said. Santana blushed a little, and Quinn just pulled her in again, sliding her arms around the other girls neck. Santana deepened the kiss, and leaned into it, half disbelieving that it was still happening.

"As much as I'd love to stay here forever," Santana said, breaking the kiss and resting their foreheads together, "I need to fix the awesome raccoon eyes I'm sure I have."

"Why don't you own waterproof mascara?" Quinn said. "You're a crier, San, you should have stocks in it by now."

"Blaine said the same thing," Santana said, shrugging. "I just haven't found one I like. Plus there's something hinky about waterproof mascara, because you kind of need water to wash it off, and then is it _really_ waterproof?" They disappeared down the hall as the boys came in toting paper bags.

"San?" Blaine called. "Quinn? You girls ready for some hangover food?"

"You know I am," Santana called back. She finished washing up, and fixed her hair. She met Blaine in the kitchen and started helping put things away.

"How did it go?" he asked softly.

"It went very well," she replied, grinning radiantly. "We still have details to go over, but we're going to see what we've got here." Blaine kissed her on the cheek as Quinn joined them. Santana was amazed that five minutes ago the girl had been puffy eyed, and red cheeked. She just shook her head and handed Kurt the last of the wholegrain pasta.

"So," Blaine said to Quinn, "tradition dictates hangover food. Catch being, nothing with a creamy base, so all pasta places are out, regardless of the fact that I would so nail an alfredo right now."

"Be honest," Kurt said. "All pasta places are out because if we went you would definitely order alfredo, and definitely want to hurl for the rest of the day." Blaine just pointed a finger at Quinn.

"So, rule two: dead animals. I don't know if it's scientific, but beef works way better on a hangover than salad. Now, pick a cuisine, and we'll go there."

"My head says Mexican," Quinn said, "But I know I'll regret guacamole and sour cream later. Is there somewhere we can just go get big fat cheeseburgers with bacon?"

"This is the perfect woman," Santana said. "Greasy burgers it is."

"If we go to Meilani's," Kurt said, "You guys can get your burgers and I can get something that won't make me taste fat for the next week."

"Meilani's!" Blaine said enthusiastically. "I love that place."

"You love that two waitresses and one waiter from that place have tried to get your number," Kurt scoffed.

"And you love that I turned every one of them down," Blaine said, kissing Kurt quickly. "Let me get a jacket. Girls, they crank the air con in there, so grab a sweater if you have one." Santana went and grabbed a sweater. She walked past Quinn's door and stopped, leaning on the doorframe.

"Ready?" she asked.

Quinn came up to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then in a tone that implied there was more to what she was saying than just lunch, she said, "Yeah, I think I am."


	18. Chapter 18

_Yes I'm aware my update rate has slowed... real life getting in the way, as per usual. That, and I'm working on a couple of other stories, too. But thanks for reading. I appreciate your reviews and whatnot._

* * *

Lunch was as good as promised, and the four of them shared old stories about McKinley and singing in Glee. Kurt had just admitted that he would have killed to join the Trouble Tones.

"Why?" Santana said. "You guys beat us, fair and square."

"We beat you with Michael," Kurt said, "But I'm telling you, nothing else we did even came close. That Adele mash-up was one of the best things I've ever seen. Shelby Corcoran knew her show choir. Hall and freaking Oates, that's all I'm going to say." They all laughed at the memory of the hideous fake mustaches.

"Well, to me that day will always be the day Santana Lopez slapped Finn Hudson," Blaine said. "That was amazing."

"To be fair, he had just outed me to the entire state of Ohio," Santana said. "So I claim it was justified." The waiter brought a jug of water over, and began clearing their lunch plates. Kurt's phone beeped.

"Just Rachel," he said. He smirked. "She's dying a painful hangover death at her place, and is cursing whoever let her drink vodka and red wine in the same night."

"Tell her that you, Mike and I all tried to talk her out of it," Santana said. "At which point she reminded us that she was _the _Rachel Berry and she'd drink whatever the hell she wanted. She just wanted to hit on the bartender."

"She wants to do lunch tomorrow," Kurt added. "Her place."

"Vegan food?" Santana shuddered. "I'm sorry but eating meat is biblical, and I'm not a better person than Jesus, so give me my dead roasted animals."

"She barely cooks," Blaine reassured her. "Mostly orders in. I daresay we'll end up with Thai or something."

"Then I'm in," Quinn said, "As long as she promises not to lecture me about eating poor defenseless lambs and whatever."

"She's not that bad anymore," Kurt said, putting his phone away. "Come on, let's settle up and the girls can buy us cheesecake for later." The girls waited outside while Blaine paid for lunch. They walked toward where the car was parked, and detoured into a patisserie so Quinn and Santana could buy the previously mentioned dessert. Kurt took the box from Quinn, and smiled as Quinn immediately took Santana's hand, leaning her head on the other girl's shoulder.

"How's your hangover?" Santana asked her.

"I'm okay," Quinn said. "You?"

"I was fine after I woke up. The second time, anyway. Kurt's a freaking genius."

"Yes, I am," he said. "So, this afternoon, ladies. I'm cooking up a storm, what are your plans?"

"Get into some sweatpants and stretch out on your couch and watch something mindless," Santana said. "Unless Quinn wants to do something else."

"No, that sounds perfect," Quinn said. "Blaine?"

"I'm going to be memorizing lines for Godot," he said. "We start rehearsal next Thursday. But go ahead, I'm pretty sure there's at least one trashy television marathon on this weekend."

Once they got home, Kurt headed straight for the kitchen. The girls heard Edith Piaf come on softly, and Blaine headed upstairs to read lines. Santana changed into sweatpants, as declared, and grabbed the remote while Quinn was changing. She landed on a Gilmore Girls marathon just as she came in.

"Score," Santana said. "How do you feel about the Gilmores?"

"I kind of always wished Lorelai was my mom when I was younger," Quinn said. "Because even when she was a complete train wreck, she loved her kid. Whereas you probably love the idea of someone drinking as much coffee as you." She sat down next to Santana and allowed the brunette to wrap an arm around her, nestling in to a comfortable position.

"Please, woman, I could drink Lorelai and Rory's coffee and still hit Luke up for more later in the day. Doesn't Paris remind you of Rachel, just a bit?"

"A little," Quinn admitted. "Before she mellowed out." They got engrossed in the effortless banter between mother and daughter and wasted away the afternoon in each other's arms.

Santana looked down at the blonde in her embrace. She'd fallen asleep, about three episodes in, and although Santana wasn't entirely comfortable, she didn't really have the heart to move her. She stroked Quinn's hair.

"You two look cute like that," came Kurt's voice softly from the doorway. "You're looking at her like she's the only thing in the world right now." He pulled a light blanket from inside a storage ottoman and draped it over Quinn.

"She pretty much is," Santana said.

"I just came in to say I was making coffee if you want one," Kurt said.

"I'd love one," she replied. Quinn stirred and Santana immediately soothed her back to sleep, as Kurt left. She took the opportunity to shift a little, stopping her leg from going numb. Kurt came back in and handed her a black coffee.

"Do you need a hand in the kitchen?" Santana asked.

"No, no," he said, waving his hand at them. "As if I want to be the one interrupting that. Shrimp is marinating, I was just going to check on Blaine. You stay here with your girl." Kurt disappeared, and Santana looked back at the sleeping Quinn.

"My girl," she said softly. Quinn's eyes fluttered, and slowly opened.

"Coffee?" she mumbled. "I smell coffee."

"I didn't mean to wake you," Santana said.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," Quinn replied. She sat up. "Sorry about that."

Santana just kissed her on the forehead. She took a sip of the coffee and handed it to Quinn. Quinn took a gulp and wrinkled her nose.

"Needs sugar," she said, handing it back. "Though, I guess it was yours and you don't take sugar." Santana just raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"You're all cute and mumbly when you wake up," she said, drinking the rest of it. Quinn bit her lip and took the mug from her, putting it on the coffee table. She pulled Santana toward her by the top of her t-shirt.

"Cute and mumbly, huh?" she said, pressing her lips against Santana's. When Santana began to pull back, she just wrapped her arms around her neck. She felt Santana smile against her mouth as the kiss deepened. They were interrupted by a cough from a bemused Kurt.

"Sorry ladies," he said, holding out Santana's cell phone with his hand over the receiver. "It's a Warner Hayes."

"Shit," Santana said. "This can't be good, I told him not to call unless the world was ending." She got up and took the call, Quinn and Kurt hearing her end. "Hey Warner. Good, what's up? Shiiiiit. No freaking way. How is he? No, of course, it qualifies. Where is he? Yeah man, I'll be there. How's Katy? Sure, sure. Eight am, got it. Thanks, Warner." She hung up and swore again.

"What's wrong?" Quinn asked.

"One of my bosses had a heart attack," she said. "Drew Mahoney, chief of operations. He'll live, but he's out for months, if he ever comes back at all. Crisis meeting Monday at eight, which means I gotta fly out Sunday night and cut the trip short."

"That's really scary."

"It sucks though," Santana said. "I've gotta call the airline. Quinn, you don't have to come back with me if you wanna hang out here."

"No, I'll come with you," she said. "Did you know him well?"

"He's my department boss," Santana said, "So yeah. Warner said sorry to cut the trip short but he figured aortic rupture qualified as a reason to call. His daughter Katy is sixteen, she'll be cut up. I'll call her tomorrow, I guess you could call us friends."

"It's only a day," Quinn said. "New York isn't going anywhere." Kurt put a hand on Santana's shoulder and then returned to the kitchen.


	19. Chapter 19

It turned out that Kurt's cooking talent had been understated, because he turned out a meal that was, as Quinn stated, literally the best home cooked meal she'd ever eaten.

"No, seriously, " she said to him, "I don't mind cooking, I like it even, but that was just…"

"Thank you," he said.

"I'll clear the dishes," Santana said. "Put some coffee on, get some cheesecake up in this business."

"Let me help," Quinn said, and they cleaned up the dishes and made the coffee.

"Decaf for the boys," Quinn said, putting them down, "Tea for me, and insanely strong brew for San."

"And cheesecake for all," Santana said. They wasted away what was left of the evening and headed for bed. Santana was just plugging her phone in to charge when she heard a knock at the door. It was Quinn, and she was in her pajamas.

"What's up?" Santana asked.

"Nothing, really," Quinn shrugged. "It's just… I probably won't be able to sleep for a while since I had a nap this afternoon, so I thought…" Santana's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, no! Jesus, I sound like…"

"Shut up and get in," Santana said. "I knew what you meant, you're just adorable when you blush." Quinn's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, but she got into the bed. Santana clicked the light off and slid down under the sheets. Santana wrapped an arm around Quinn's waist, and felt the girl relax a little into her. Quinn put her arm on top of Santana's and interlocked their fingers.

"Good night, Santana," Quinn said.

"Good night," Santana said. She pressed a kiss to the back of Quinn's head, and was almost immediately asleep.

When she woke, she was draped over Quinn, one arm flung across her chest, hand in her hair. Her leg was cocked up and resting on Quinn's leg, and she was half nestled into Quinn's neck and shoulder. Quinn had her arm wrapped around her, and her hand was stuck under the other girl's shirt. She couldn't tell if Quinn was awake or not, and she was enjoying the moment, so she just lightly nuzzled further into her neck.

Quinn made an indistinguishable noise and pulled Santana as close as she could, given their current positions. Her hand smoothed over Santana's back.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Santana whispered into her hair.

"Mmm," Quinn murmured. "Let's not get up yet."

"Sounds good to me," Santana said. She moved her hand to Quinn's waist and closed her eyes again. Quinn's hand continued to slowly move over Santana's back and she sighed contentedly. If Santana was honest with herself, it had been a long time since she just lay in bed with a girl like this without the end goal being sex. She and Alana had barely been able to touch each other without it turning to sex – probably another reason why their relationship wasn't the best.

It wasn't that she didn't _want_ to have sex with Quinn, it just wasn't at the forefront of her mind. There was still so much talking to do, and it was nice to just be close to her.

"I slept really well," Quinn said softly, eyes still closed.

"Me too," Santana said.

"I panicked," Quinn admitted, "After you fell asleep. Thought I might have been too forward, walking in and pretty much demanding to stay with you. It'd just been a while since I had a warm bed."

"I wasn't complaining," Santana said. "And for the record, I never will."

"What time do you think it is?" Quinn asked. Almost as if on cue, they heard the shower run upstairs.

"Time for us to get up if we want to make it to brunch, I guess," Santana said. "Then back to Chicago. Sorry again about cutting it short."

"Because you totally have control over when another man has a heart attack," Quinn said. "It's alright San, I'm pretty sure I got everything out of this weekend I was hoping for." She kissed Santana's forehead. "Now I kinda just wanna be wherever you are, for a while."

"Me too," Santana said. "Except we should probably get up, I don't expect _the_ Rachel Berry would like to be kept waiting.

Rachel had been a little bummed to hear that Santana and Quinn were leaving early, but had managed to talk everyone in to brunch before they had to go to the airport.

"How are you feeling today?" Kurt asked, smirking, as they read the menu.

"Much better," Rachel said. "But yesterday was not a pretty sight. And you weren't around to enforce your theoretically magical hangover cure."

"It's not theoretical," Santana said. "Quinn and I both pulled up pretty good yesterday."

"Rachel just doesn't want to admit that she always makes it worse by doing vegan Mexican the day after," Blaine said. "Tofu tacos?"

"Shut up," Rachel said. "And decide on what you're having."

"Eggs benedict," Quinn said. "With extra bacon."

"Same," Santana said. "I was leaning toward French toast but that sounds good. And coffee."

"Naturally," Kurt teased. "Eggs benedict used to be made with ham, which would make it a little healthier I guess, but somewhere along the line bacon beat the ham out."

"Because bacon always wins," Blaine said. "Flag the waiter down, we're ready." Brunch was long and relaxed. Rachel and Kurt told them about Godspell coming up, and Santana promised she would bring Quinn back to see it.

"Godot's first," she said. "We'll be back for that, promise." Blaine beamed at her. He was happy to let Rachel and Kurt be the megastars, and he allowed himself to do whatever he fancied at the time, whether it be a play, giving music lessons, or anything else.

"Hate to be the killjoy," Kurt said, "But we have to get you ladies to an airport if you're going to make your flight."

"Damn," Santana said. "You're right, though." They got up and paid the check, and said their farewells to Rachel outside. As Quinn hugged her, she could see Rachel talking to her, but couldn't quite make out what she was saying. Santana kissed her on the cheek.

"I'll talk to you soon," she said. Blaine pulled the car around and they got in.

The airport was as busy as it always was on a Sunday afternoon. The boys waited until the luggage was checked before saying goodbye. Blaine hugged Santana tight.

"Take care of each other," he said. "For the record, it's good to see you smiling." She kissed him and Kurt on the cheek and they disappeared to the boarding gate.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, the offices of Caulfield and Mellor were in damage control mode. Mahoney had a lot of work on, and Santana and Warner were going to have to pick up the slack on a lot of it. They had four of the interns helping them sort through his files and decide what to do with them.

The crisis meeting in the morning had made them aware of one thing – Mahoney's job needed to be filled immediately. Caulfield had basically said it was unlikely Mahoney would ever come back, and if he did it would never be in the same sort of capacity. Santana enquired about his daughter, and asked if she might visit Katy later in the day. Apparently she had stayed at the hospital the past two nights, and her aunt was coming in the next morning. They threw themselves at the work.

Debbie had just delivered another round of coffee to the six extremely stressed out workers, and taken her own cup back to her desk while she typed. The phone rang.

"Caulfield and Mellor, Santana Lopez's office," she said.

"Hi," came another voice. "My name is Quinn Fabray, is Santana available? I know it's not a good time."

"Oh, sugar," Debbie said, "Miss Lopez is up to her eyeballs in work. Can I pass on a message for you?"

"I just wanted to make sure she'd eaten lunch," Quinn said. "I'm nearby, and thought I might bring something in."

"Well aren't you a darling," Debbie said. "Quinn, was it?"

"Yes," Quinn said. "And has she drunk anything apart from coffee today?" Debbie chuckled.

"Clearly you know Santana well," she said. "She and Warner, plus the four interns, have barely stopped to pee all day. I'm sure some lunch would be much appreciated."

"What about you, Debbie? Have you eaten? It's no trouble," she offered.

"Oh, I'm fine, sugar. Got my lunch here, but thanks. I'll call down to reception and tell them to expect you." She hung up and alerted the front desk to let a Miss Quinn Fabray in as soon as she got there.

It was barely twenty minutes later when Quinn stepped off the elevator with some deli platters, salads and water. She asked the nearest person where Santana's office was, and made her way toward a woman with honey colored hair and red lips.

"Are you Debbie?" she asked.

"You must be Quinn," she said. "Aren't you a pretty little thing? Let me call Santana."

"Oh, don't interrupt," Quinn said, but Debbie held a finger up and winked.

"Pretty sure this is the kind of interruption she wouldn't mind." She dialed the extension for the conference room. "Santana, sugar, you have a visitor. Won't take but a minute." It was only a moment before a clearly stressed Santana appeared. The stress disappeared from her face when she saw Quinn.

"Q," she said, giving her a quick hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought lunch," she said. "I called Debbie who told me that you and your colleagues have been subsiding on nothing but coffee all day." Santana smiled.

"Debbie, are you getting me in trouble?" she asked.

"You know it, precious. I keep telling you that you need to take care of yourself," she said. "It's why I'm your favorite. Except for maybe Quinn here."

"Give us a hand bringing it in?" Santana asked Quinn. She nodded and picked up some of the food. She followed Santana through to a conference room.

"Hey guys," Santana said, "This is Quinn. She brought us lunch." There was a collective murmur of appreciation in the group. Warner came over.

"Nice to see you again, Quinn," he said. "Thanks for lunch."

"I was shopping nearby," she said. "And realized that when Santana said the words 'crisis meeting' the other day, it meant she wasn't going to eat anything." She smiled at an intern she recognized from the baseball.

"It's much appreciated," he said. "We need to get on top of this _yesterday_."

"I'm not staying," Quinn said. "Just dropping off, I know you're busy."

"I'll walk you to the elevator, at least," Santana said. They walked back out into the general offices.

"Nice to meet you, Debbie," Quinn said to the receptionist. "You keep an eye on her, won't you?"

"Sure will, sweetheart," she replied, her eyes flicking up from her screen as her fingers continued to type. They got to the elevator.

"Are you doing okay?" Quinn asked. "Not stressing too much?"

"This will be over in a few days," Santana said. "I called Mahoney's daughter, she's been sleeping at the hospital. Her aunt's coming in tomorrow. Do you mind if I offer my spare bed to her? She needs a decent night's sleep."

"It's your bed," she said. "I'm not going to bemoan sharing a bed with you."

"She'll probably turn us down," Santana said, "I just want her to know that if she needs it, it's there. Thanks for bringing lunch. Best girlfriend in the world."

"I like the sound of that," Quinn said. Santana kissed her softly.

"I'll probably be late," she said. "But I'll call later this afternoon."

"I'm just going to pick up some groceries, and then I'll check in with my editor, write a little. I'll cook later, and I'll leave you some in the microwave for when you get home." She pushed some hair out of Santana's face. "Promise you'll drink something besides coffee today."

"I will," Santana said. She kissed her again. "I'll see you later." Quinn got in the elevator and Santana walked back toward the conference room.

"Mighty pretty girl, that Quinn," Debbie said. "Has she replaced the redhead?"

"She's my girlfriend, yeah," Santana said. "And hells yes, she's gorgeous. You know, we've been friends for twenty years."

"Well, I like her, if she's gonna make you eat properly and calm down with the coffee," Debbie said. Santana rolled her eyes.

"She's started by trying to get me to at least increase my water intake to match my coffee intake," Santana said. "I like that she worries, though. Oh well, better get back to it." She went in to the conference room where Warner and the interns were eating around the stacks of files on the table.

"Tell Quinn she's my favorite person ever," one of the interns said. "Didn't even realize how hungry I was."

"Will do," Santana said. "She's trying to get me to eat more responsibly while I work, or something."

"She your girlfriend?" another intern asked. "Don't mean to pry, but I got that vibe."

"She is," Santana said. Her being out at work was not an issue. Some of her colleagues had met her girlfriends over the years, especially Warner. "Now, where did we land on the Stevenson account?" One of the interns picked it up and began to summarize it. Santana bit into a deli sandwich with turkey and smiled.


	21. Chapter 21

Santana got home a little after eight o'clock. She was absolutely ruined from the massive day she'd had at work. She hung her coat up by the door, and Quinn appeared from the study.

"Hey," she said softly. "You look shattered. Beautiful still, but shattered." Santana managed a smile and allowed herself to be wrapped in a hug.

"It's an uphill battle for sure," Santana said. "Gotta hand it to the interns, though, the four we have are kicking ass."

"Hungry? I could warm your dinner, I'm assuming you didn't eat again after lunch."

"You'd be correct, and that's okay, I can manage," Santana said, moving toward the kitchen. Quinn grabbed her hand.

"Hey," she said, standing in front of her. "Look at me. I know you're used to your crazy workaholic single lifestyle, but I'm offering, San. You're wiped. Go jump in the shower and put your pajamas on, I'll get your dinner. Let me take care of you. I want to." Santana smiled again, this one hitting her eyes. She slid her arms around Quinn's neck and kissed her.

"You're amazing," she said. "And you're right. Thank you." She padded down the hall, and Quinn went into the kitchen to reheat the lasagna. She was just adding salad to the plate when the shower shut off. She made herself some tea and Santana joined her at the table.

"There's enough in the fridge for you to take to work tomorrow," Quinn said.

"I own tea now?" Santana joked, as she ate.

"You own a whole lot of weird and wonderful things I'm assuming you've never heard of," Quinn responded. "I figure if I'm going to be here a while, I am not going to rely on takeout tea alone." Santana frowned. "What?"

"Ugh, you just reminded me. There is a very real possibility that Warner or I are going to have to fly to London at the end of the week. Two open projects. Normally Warner would go, but he's got custody of his son this weekend. If the bitch ex wife doesn't want to trade, it's going to be me," Santana said. "Which means you might be here, and I probably won't."

"That blows," Quinn said. "But it's not the end of the world, Santana. It's your job, which you love, and you're amazing at. How long?"

"Three weeks," she said simply. "I don't know if I want to be apart from you that long."

"Three weeks," Quinn said. "Wow. But we can do this. I can go home, see my editor and publisher. There are a few things I need to tie up."

"Still sucks," Santana pouted.

"This probably isn't the best time," Quinn said, "And feel free to say no. But, I was thinking, even though it's only been a few days, and we're still not really done talking things out… I want to move here, to Chicago, to be near you. When you're home."

"Seriously?" Santana asked.

"We could postpone it, or something, if you wanted to, but I feel like we wasted enough time."

"You can't move in here," Santana said. Quinn looked stunned.

"Oh," she said quietly. Santana realized how that had sounded.

"Oh, shit! No, I'll finish the thought out loud. Um… this is _my_ place. It's filled with _my_ crap, and decorated in my taste. If you're going to move out here, and we're really going to do this, then maybe _we_ should do it properly," Santana said. "Lesbian overnight U-Haul, whatever. Into _our_ place."

"You want to find a new place?"

"Sure," Santana said. "I'll just lease this out, chances are one of the interns we're about to turn into employees is going to need a house. Remember when we were twelve, and we planned to move in together after high school? We said we'd get a place with a bay window and a floor to ceiling bookshelf, and all sorts of crap?"

"Are we seriously going to get a place together even though we've only been dating for a few days?" Quinn mused. Santana took her hand and looked into her eyes.

"Quinn, this thing, it's real. So real we couldn't ignore it in Seattle, even after a shitload of time tried to kill us off. So real I'm trying to open up parts of myself that I closed off long ago. Like you said, we could dance around, or we could just be that crazy couple who move in together straight away."

"So let's be that couple," Quinn said. Santana beamed, and got up from her seat. She pulled Quinn to her feet and kissed her, gently tugging at the blonde's bottom lip.

"Can I just state for the record that I would be willing to move to Seattle," Santana said. "If you want to stay there."

"Please," Quinn said. "Your job is here, and mine, well I can write anywhere. I wouldn't let you give your job up for me."

"Goddamn you're amazing," Santana replied. "You bring me lunch, cook me dinner, you're willing to relocate… How can one person that awesome?" She cleared away her dinner plates and yawned.

"What time will you be at the office in the morning?" Quinn asked.

"Eight," Santana said. "This week's gonna hurt. But if you're here at the end of the day… worth it. Hey, did you get much writing done today?"

"A little," Quinn replied. "I'm ahead of schedule, though. I don't normally start writing the next book until I hear from the editor about the one in progress." Santana yawned again. "You're tired, San, let's just go to bed."

"I'll regret going to bed so soon after those delicious carbs," Santana said, "But you're right, I'm practically asleep right now." They detoured past the bathroom to brush their teeth and Santana fell into bed. Quinn smiled at the brunette in the semidarkness. Her breathing was already starting to even out. She flicked off the lamp and slid down under the covers. Santana grabbed one of her arms and wrapped it around herself, taking time to raise her hand to her lips and kiss it. Their breathing steadied, and fell into rhythm with one another as they faded into sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

Santana had a large cup of coffee in her hand, and her bag in the other. She deposited the bag in her office, taking out only what she foresaw she would need for the morning. She stopped past Debbie's desk and left a note for her, and headed into the conference room, where one of the interns was already working.

"Jesus Lucas," she said, "How long have you been here?"

"Since six," he said. "I'm always up super early. Thought I'd get in and do some of the fiddly crap so you didn't have to do it when you get here." He gestured to the stack of files on his right. Santana came and had a look.

"You've summarized and detailed all the outstanding work and concerns on, what, two thirds of Mahoney's files?" she said, impressed. The work was concise, detailed, and orderly. "That's some good work, Lucas."

"My dad was old army," he said. "He raised me up saying that if a man goes down, everyone chips in to cover him. Also, not relevant, but if you can't shower, a shave is the next best thing."

"Your dad is a smart man," Santana replied. She'd checked three of the files, and it was all outstanding. She decided to find out what Lucas was doing at Caulfield and Mellor. "So, Lucas. What do you want to do here?"

"Is this a test?" he asked nervously.

"It's an inquiry," Santana laughed. "Relax man."

"Oh, I guess I like all this," he said, gesturing with his hands. "Contract negotiations, compiling information. Mahoney's work is fascinating to me, so that's what I'd like to do."

"Oh really?" Santana asked. Contract negotiations. This could be her assistant. "So tell me about yourself."

"Born and bred in Texas, lived on my folks farm til I left for college. Went to Texas A & M on an ROTC program, Air Force. I was discharged honorably after completing my agreed term of service afterward," he said.

"Wow," Santana said. "Why'd you leave?" He smiled.

"Don't ask, don't tell," he said.

"Seriously?"

"Very seriously," he said. "I was in intelligence in the Air Force, and had a degree in commerce, so I decided I'd throw in a degree in marketing, one of my professors suggested I apply and here I am."

"Family?"

"My folks still live on the farm," he said. "Cattle, for milk, not steak. I have an older sister and younger brother. She's a teacher, he's on a football scholarship in Miami. No significant other at the moment. You realize most of this is in my file?"

"I hate those files," Santana said. "You can get facts from a file. But you can tell more when a person tells you about themselves. Like, I know you love and respect your parents because of the tone you used when you talk about them. Also, you're a little worried about them still trying to manage a farm, because they're probably getting on a little. Am I right?"

"You are," he said. "Impressive."

"Half my job is to read people," Santana said. ""Because then you can steer the conversation whichever way you want. So you're interested in operations?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Whoa," she said. "Ma'am? You're probably two years younger than me. Ma'am is for my mother, and probably Debbie, because you're both Southern and she'd love you." She took off her jacket.

"Need a refill?" he asked, pointing to the coffee. "I'm going to pop out to Starbucks and get something quick for breakfast."

"I always need a refill," Santana said. "Black, no sugar. Thanks." She picked up the files Lucas had worked on and continued checking them out. Warner arrived a few moments later.

"Morning," he said. "How bad is it?"

"Lucas has been here since six," Santana said. "Check some of this out, it's really damn good." Warner raised an interested eyebrow and picked up a file.

"This morning?" he asked. "All of them this morning?"

"He's about two thirds done," Santana said. "Impressive, right?"

"And if you're impressed," Warner joked, "It's a miracle. Where is he?"

"Coffee," Santana said.

"I talked to Diane last night," Warner said. "She's not budging. I can't go to London. I'm sorry, Santana. I know you and your girl were just getting started."

"Warner, it's your kid," Santana said. "You don't have to apologize, he's not an inconvenience. Plus, Quinn and I talked about it, she's gotta go to Seattle, see her editor and publisher. Don't worry about us. We might have only just started officially dating, but we're much further along than that."

"I got that impression from you at the baseball game," he said. "History?"

"Quinn and I have been best friends for twenty years," she said. "There was a thing about six or seven years ago, and it's all been coming from then, really."

"She making you happy?"

"She is," Santana said. "Very."

"Good," he said. "Every time that Alana girl called you looked like you wanted to strangle her through the phone." Lucas came back with coffee.

"Morning," Warner said. "Nice work here, Lucas."

"Thanks," he said. He resumed his spot at the conference table and kept going with the files in front of him. Santana and Warner assessed the files he had finished and determined which had the most pressing issues. At nine sharp, the other interns arrived and Debbie stuck her head in.

"Warner, Santana," she said. "John Caulfield wants a quick brief." They headed to the top floor and knocked on Caulfield's door.

"Come in," he said. They sat across from him. "How's the Mahoney thing going?"

"Very well," Santana said. "One of the interns has gone above and beyond. And he's producing some excellent work."

"Agreed," Warner said. "He's already done most of the morning's allocated work, before any of the others showed up."

"Which intern is this?"

"Lucas Patterson," Warner said. Caulfield though for a moment.

"Air Force via Texas A & M?" He thought for a moment. "Where'd we land on London?"

"I'll go," Santana said. "Saturday, right?"

"Yep," John said. "Expect to stay three weeks. And take this Lucas character with you. If he keeps up with you, hire him, make him your assistant."

"Seriously?" Santana said. "They're not even halfway through their internship."

"I know," Caulfield said, "But Mahoney's heart attack put strain on operations when it was already hurting. If he's good enough to impress both of you, then he's gotta be good."

"Sure thing, John," she said. "I'll get Debbie to do the arrangements for the both of us."

"Anything else I should know?" he said.

"Not really," Warner said. "We're getting on top of it. How's Mahoney?"

"Still intubated, but awake," Caulfield said. "His sister showed this morning to take care of Katy and the hospital arrangements. Doctors say it was severe, but he's recuperating well." They made a little small talk and then headed back downstairs. Santana went to her office and explained to Debbie that she needed travel and accommodation to London for two.

"You and…" Debbie said.

"Lucas Patterson," Santana replied. "Can you also call the conference room and have him come to my office?" He appeared only a few moments later.

"Sit down, Lucas," she said, waving at a chair. He sat, looking a little nervous. "Relax, man."

"It feels like I'm in the principals office." Santana laughed.

"Warner and I were just with John Caulfield, and we mentioned how impressed we are with your work," she said. "I don't know if you know this, but I'm looking to hire an operations assistant. Would you be interested in that sort of position?"

"Yes, I would," he said. Santana smiled.

"So here's what we do. On Saturday, you and I are flying to London," she said. His eyes widened. "Three weeks, tying up Mahoney's work on that side of the business. If it goes well, we hire you. Not after the internship, we'll sign a contract as soon as we get back."

"Are you messing with me?" he asked.

"No," Santana said. "I've been in need of an assistant for a while now. You're smart and you work hard. You can get to the point, which I both need and appreciate. This is an opportunity the other interns would kill for."

"I'm in," he said. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"I believe in rewarding good work," Santana said. "Debbie will have paperwork for us by the end of the day." He shook Santana's hand and wandered out.


	23. Chapter 23

_Hey everyone! I've managed to do a few chapters while I've been off work sick, hooray! Thanks for all the continued reviews. I've also posted the other multi-chapter Quintana I was working on, it's called 'You & Me (We Might Be Enough)'. That one's gonna be LONG, it's planned out for about forty chapters so far. Thanks for reading everyone. Much love._

* * *

Santana arrived home in a much better mood than the previous night, and at a much more reasonable hour. When she arrived Quinn was cooking again. Or, more accurately, baking.

"Are you baking, Wonder Woman?" Santana asked, wrapping her arms around Quinn from behind. "You might be the most perfect person ever."

"Cookies," Quinn said. "I got stuck and needed something to get my brain going again. Dinner's already in the slow cooker." She slid the tray into the oven. "You seem to be a lot happier today."

"One of the interns," Santana explained. "He got in early, did a crapload of work, and did it really well. Down side, I have to go to London, definitely. Only the intern, Lucas, is coming with me. If it goes well, I can make him my assistant when we get back."

"That is good news," Quinn said. "I'll call my editor and set up a meeting for next week then. When do you fly out?"

"Saturday mid-day," Santana said. "Warner said sorry to burst our bubble. He likes you. You don't have to leave before I do, though. I have a spare set of keys."

"Oh, great," Quinn said. "I might hang out for a few days and wander, check out apartments or whatever. I'll miss you, though."

"I'll miss you, too," Santana said. "I'll call."

"Every day?" Quinn asked. Santana slid her hands under Quinn's apron and into the waistband of her jeans. She pulled her in, until their abdomens were touching, and wrapped her arms around her, low and strong. Quinn's pupils dilated a little, and she put her hands on Santana's hips.

"Every day," Santana promised. She kissed Quinn hard, felt the other girls hands flutter at her sides. One of the arms moved, a hand snaking up her back and into her hair. Quinn's fingers felt amazing tugging through her hair. Santana deepened the kiss and felt Quinn's heart began to race as fast as hers was. She moved her hands down to Quinn's ass, urging the blonde as close as she could get, and heard her moan softly into her mouth.

"If you keep kissing me like this, I'll be tempted to let your kitchen burn down," Quinn said throatily. The timbre of Quinn's voice just made Santana smile and press kisses to the side of her neck and her jawline.

"Rescue the cookies," Santana said. "I want to take a shower." Quinn kissed her quickly, and then again. The shower shut off a little while later, and Quinn grabbed two of the semi-warm cookies, walking toward the bedroom. As she got to the door, she saw a mostly naked Santana.

She had underwear on, and that was it. Quinn swallowed hard. She'd been sleeping in bed with Santana, but this was the closest she'd seen the girl to naked since they were in high school, showering after cheerleading. Santana had always had an excellent body, and time had been nothing but kind. Santana hadn't realized she was there, so she watched as the brunette slid into a tight tank top and started moisturizing her legs. Her brain fuzzed over and she wasn't thinking clearly.

"Hello?" she heard finally. "Quinn?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you wanted something in particular, or were you just staring like a perve. I think I have my answer." Santana had pants on now, so Quinn had no idea how long she'd been staring.

"What the hell," Quinn said. "I was totally checking you out. It's in the job description, especially after you kissed me like that in the kitchen."

"So this is my fault?" Santana asked. "Excellent reasoning, if you're a crazy person." She snagged a cookie from Quinn's hand. "Although, feel free to ogle me any time, it's good for my self esteem."

"I don't know how you'd be lacking in self esteem with a body like that," Quinn said. "You stopped my brain from working."

"Look who's talking, Grace Kelly," Santana said. "You're not exactly hideous."

"My body hasn't lasted quite so well as yours," Quinn said.

"Yes, but I never got hit by a truck," Santana said. She took Quinn, her hand rested on a spot on her side. "So I know there's a scar there where the doctors rammed a tube into your lung to get you breathing again." She moved her other hand to her back. "And there are a couple of scars here that mean that you're able to walk today. And this one hiding in your hairline, that most people didn't know was there, that scared me most of all. Now it reminds me that even when shit looks hopeless, we should be optimistic. Because you didn't lose your memories, not for a second."

Quinn just threw her arms around the other girl, tearing up. "It's that sort of thing that reminds me why I've been in love with you forever. Who else looks at hideous scars and sees them as a good thing?"

"The alternative was losing you, Q," Santana said into her hair. "And that was not an option. I'll take scars."

After dinner was done, Santana tidied the kitchen and ran the dishwasher. She brought a tea out for Quinn and a coffee for herself, and they fell into their normal positions on the couch. Santana had her feet kicked over Quinn's lap, yelling at Top Model (again) and Quinn was alternating between laughing at Santana and reading a book called _Sarah's Key_. Santana channel surfed to Friends after Top Model and scooted closer to Quinn so she could lean against her and take her hand. Quinn's arm was around her, and her fingers were running through her hair and scratching at her scalp.

"God that feels good," Santana said. "Makes me feel like normal isn't so far off."

"Huh?" Quinn asked. She put the book aside.

"The fact that I can do this with you. Every time I did this with Alana I was petrified it'd start some deep and meaningful conversation I wasn't ready to have. But I find myself, after a few days with you, doing and thinking things I haven't thought about since Penny," she explained. "It's a good thing."

"Stuff like what?"

"Sharing dinner, baking cookies, making out without having it end in sex. Let's not forget that we're moving in together after a few days, and I couldn't even talk to Alana about that after six months," she said. "I feel like I can be a real girlfriend again."

Quinn dropped a kiss on Santana's forehead. It still upset her to think about how badly Penny and Brittany had screwed her up.

"Just so you know," Quinn said, going back to her book, "You're a fantastic girlfriend."


	24. Chapter 24

Santana looked at her watch. Boarding for London was late. Lucas was staring at the wall in the lounge. She sighed and kicked at the carpet. She didn't mind having to go to London, but she did mind leaving Quinn. Quinn had driven them to the airport, and Lucas had politely excused himself while Santana said goodbye. She promised to call when she landed, and kissed her hard enough that they drew stares from bystanders. Quinn pushed some hair from Santana's face and they smiled at each other, a little sad.

"It's only three weeks," Quinn said. "We'll make it."

"I'll miss you," Santana said. "How am I supposed to sleep without you here?"

"I might have smuggled my pillowcase into your luggage," Quinn said. "I'm planning on wearing your Bears hoodie as much as possible." She kissed her on the cheek, and they separated. Now she was here, checking her watch like it might dissolve off of her wrist. Lucas snagged a flight attendant who was walking past.

"Do you know how long til boarding begins?" he asked.

"I'm about to make an announcement," the woman smiled. They waited and were politely informed that first class would begin in fifteen minutes, business in thirty and economy in forty five. Lucas got up.

"Coffee," he said. It wasn't a question. Santana nodded and they found a cart. They resumed their seating positions.

"Ever been to London before?" she asked.

"Once," he said. "Three day layover, but I only saw the US Embassy. Active duty. You?"

"I've been a bit for work," she said. "Nothing fun though."

"You're bummed about leaving your girlfriend here," Lucas observed.

"Very. She's both amazing and supportive though. She has to fly back to Seattle anyway, work and stuff."

"What does Quinn do?" he asked.

"She's a writer," Santana said. "Novels. You heard of The Offbeats?"

"She wrote those?"

"She did," Santana said proudly. "It kind of instigated our getting together after all this time. Book four is at the editor right now." They made more small talk until business class boarding was announced for the flight.

London was cold, as always, and Santana always thought it smelled different to Chicago. She didn't know how that worked. She pulled her coat tighter, and saw Lucas doing the same. She saw a man in a grey suit she recognized, and sure enough he was holding a sign that read: Caulfield & Mellor.

"They sent a car?" Lucas said. "Do they do that a lot?"

"All the time in London," she said. "Trying to catch a cab from the airport is a total bitch."

"Miss Lopez," the man said. "Always lovely to see you."

"You too, Carl," she said. "This is Lucas Patterson, he's one of us." She was pleasantly impressed that Lucas shook the mans hand, treating him like an equal instead of a chauffeur. They bundled in to the car and headed to the hotel. They decided that hot showers were first on the agenda, then a quiet dinner in the hotel restaurant, before reviewing the first few days work the next morning. They were in suites across the hall from one another, and Santana said she'd knock for dinner when she was ready.

She dumped her suitcase on the bed and pulled out the stuff she didn't want to wrinkle. She called Quinn.

"Hey babe," she said. "I'm in freezing cold London."

"How cold is it?"

"Colder than an Eskimo's ass," she said flatly. "I'm going to have a hot shower. But I'd rather crawl under a blanket with you and watch that nerd show you love so much."

"Which one?" Quinn laughed. "I won't lie, I'm wearing your hoodie." They chatted, until Santana finally admitted it was time for dinner and she still had to shower. They reluctantly hung up, and Santana stood under the hot stream of water until the dull ache in her chest faded. She'd only been apart from Quinn for half the day, and she felt like three weeks might kill her.

After dinner with Lucas, she went back to her room and lay painfully awake, aware that she was missing Quinn again. She sat up at about three in the morning and realized exactly what it meant. She loved Quinn. Like, loved her. She hated being apart from her, missed the way Quinn tucked her toes under Santana's thigh to keep them warm, the smell of her tea, the way the bathroom smelled like coconut after she'd showered. She missed the way Quinn paused before speaking, the way she got little lines at the corner of her eyes when she smiled.

She suddenly freaked out. It was way too soon for her to be in love. It could only go downhill from here. The knot in her stomach grew. Quinn wouldn't believe her. She said it'd be a long time before she could see herself loving again. She sighed. The time difference meant it was still a reasonable time to call Quinn and expect she might be awake.

"Hello?" she said.

"I'm freaking out," Santana said. "And I know I'm going to ramble because it's what I do when I freak out. But I was lying here all night and I can't freaking sleep because you're not here. And I should be able to sleep, Quinn, I slept without you for years. But I miss the way you look in my slippers. And the way your hand rests on my hip while we sleep. I miss the smell of your hair and your night moisturizer, and then I think I'm insane because I can smell the difference between your day and night moisturizers. And it's been like, ten days. All I know is this bed is big and empty, Quinn."

"Hey, Santana?"

"Yes, Quinn?" she sighed exasperatedly.

"I want you to do something for me. Get up and go to your suitcase." Santana did as she was told. "Unfold your Wonder Woman pajama pants, and you'll see the pillowcase I smuggled in. Put it on your pillow." How Quinn knew that she'd put her Incredible Hulk ones on, she wouldn't know.

"Ok," Santana said, struggling with it. "All done."

"Now get back in to bed," Quinn said. "What do you want me to do, hang up so you can sleep, talk til you fall asleep or sing to you?" She was joking, of course.

"I'd love to hear you sing," Santana mumbled.

"Oh," Quinn said. "Um, okay." She began to sing a song Santana had never heard before. Santana got drowsy, but could make out something about happiness and someone coming home. Quinn finished the song.

"Anything else you need?" she asked.

"No," Santana said. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

"Well, then, you're my idiot," Quinn said. "I love you Santana."

"That's kind of the point," Santana mumbled. "I'm pretty sure I love you, too." She hung up, rolled over and fell asleep, letting the phone fall from her hand, breathing in the scent of coconut and passionflower from Quinn's pillowcase.


	25. Chapter 25

The three weeks in London dragged on hideously for both Santana and Lucas. Their English counterparts were not as efficient with their records and filing, and they had to wait the better part of three days to even get all of Mahoney's files in one room.

After that initial hiccup, Santana found Lucas to be extremely competent, and valuable. She was thrilled to see that his work ethic was probably better than her own, at present, and he had a knack for analysis. Three weeks of endless nights involving coffee and takeout from a place on the corner, and both were ready to go back to Chicago. They set up the courier for the work they needed to take home, and on the final Thursday, they collapsed exhausted into the leather chairs.

"This has been the hardest three weeks of my life," Santana said.

"It ranks up there," Lucas said. "And I served in the god damn air force. Is it always like this when you come here?"

"No," Santana said. "It's never like that. But now we can take all this shit home and divide it up. But don't forget, Lucas, we touch down, and we get four days R&R."

"Can I ask a blunt question?" Lucas said, tossing their coffee cups in the bin. Santana motioned for him to continue. "Have I done enough here over the three weeks to secure a job?"

"I can get behind your directness," Santana said. "I hate people who talk around issues. Anyway, in my opinion, and mine is the only one who matters, yes. You have worked your Texan ass off. You managed to keep up with me, by thinking as fast as I talk, and being able to remember everything I say, even when I don't finish saying it. Your understanding of what needs to happen in a contract negotiation is uncanny, you even picked up some flaws that Mahoney missed. So I would love it, if you're interested and willing, if I could hire you."

"Well, I'm of course going to accept," he said. "Because the work's been hard, but I liked it. I feel like it was a real fire baptism."

"Exactly," Santana said. "I'll have the contract drawn up when we get home. I'm happy to have you on board. You came around at the precise moment I needed someone to help me out. Now, we're all done here. Did you have plans for dinner?"

"No, but I was thinking of going back to the Cambodian place," he said. "If you want to come."

"Sounds good," she said. "I just want to call Quinn, if that's okay."

"Of course," he said. "Still miss her, huh?" Santana had called Quinn every night, and they'd talked about everything except the fact that Santana had told Quinn she loved her. Her book had been sent to the publisher, and she should expect mock covers any day. She talked with a realtor about leasing her place, and had sorted through her some of her stuff. She'd also brought some of her stuff back, just the things she imagined she'd need.

"Like crazy," she admitted. "I'm ready to go home now, and spend four days with her, without looking at a single piece of paperwork." They left the offices, farewelling the few employees who were still there, and walked toward the elevators.

"What are you plans for your days off?" she asked Lucas.

"Sleep. Call my folks, do my laundry. And, I guess, look for a place to live." He shook his head. "The share house isn't that bad, but I really do like having my own place." Santana smiled at him.

"Speaking of places to live," she said, as the elevator doors slid closed.

The line through customs in the arrivals lounge was moving agonizingly slow. Lucas tried to see what the hold up was, but all he could see was the arms of someone protesting heavily toward the front of the queue. Santana muttered obscenities under her breath in Spanish, eliciting a chuckle from her colleague, and a nod of agreement from a nearby woman who must have understood her.

The line inched forward, and both Lucas and Santana were waved through without concern. Santana's eyes immediately scanned the crowd in the arrivals lounge. She stood up on her toes a little, but couldn't see clearly. Lucas guided her shoulder and pointed toward a moving blonde Quinn. He discreetly let Santana know he'd catch a cab home, and before Santana could respond, Quinn had thrown her arms around her.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Coconut, passionflower, green tea. She didn't let go when Quinn tried to pull back.

"Not yet," she murmured, "I need to hold you a little more." Quinn obliged. After a moment, she pulled back and kissed Quinn softly on the lips. "God I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Quinn said. "I know we talked every day, but it's not the same."

"So not the same," Santana agreed. "I don't want to even think about the office right now. Let's just go home." Quinn had rented a car and had them home in short time. Santana dropped her suitcase by the door with great relish, and turned to Quinn. She pulled her in close, and kissed her properly – long, deep and until they were both out of breath.

"Hi," she said. "In case you can't tell, I'm glad to be home." Quinn smiled radiantly, and Santana felt like she'd never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

"Coffee?" Quinn asked. Santana shook her head.

"Shower," she said. "Then, I just want to snuggle with you, I don't care about anything else, even caffeine."

Post-shower, Santana was wearing track pants and a tight shirt. Quinn had kicked off her shoes and was walking around barefoot in her jeans and shirt. She pulled Santana's hand, leading her toward the bedroom, where she let the brunette wrap her arm over her, tuck her knees into the crook of her own knees and her fingers gently flutter along the skin on her side.

"Hey, Q?" she said.

"Mmm?"

"I know we never talked about it at the time," she said softly, "But the first night was in London, I meant what I said. It took me by surprise, because I was so fucked up before, but I'm not when I'm with you. We've only really just started, but I love you." Quinn turned over in her embrace.

"You do?" Quinn asked. "Even after…"

"Especially after," Santana said. "I love you because I know you're none of those things, but you're everything else. And I just wanted you to know." She yawned. "Damn jet lag. I shouldn't sleep, but I want to."

"So sleep," Quinn said, kissing the tip of her nose. "I'm not going anywhere, because I love you, too."


	26. Chapter 26

_Sorry for my absence everyone! This one's a little shorter, but I should resume some kind of quasi-regular updates now. xx_

* * *

When Santana woke up, it was early morning, with the sun still a promise instead of a reality. She rolled over. 4:27. Quinn was in the bed next to her, in her pajamas now. Santana deduced she must have gotten up at some point. She didn't want to wake Quinn, so she silently slipped out of bed, grabbing her slippers, and went to the bathroom. There was a note on the kitchen counter.

_I bought fresh coffee for you yesterday. Tried to wake you, but you wouldn't budge. You look so calm and peaceful when you sleep. Q._

She smiled and opened the cupboard to find her coffee. She made a strong black and curled up on the couch with a book. It was only six am when Quinn made an appearance. She looked ridiculously fresh for having just gotten out of bed.

"Hey," she said, dropping a kiss on Santana's forehead. "What time did you finally wake up?"

"Like, four thirty," Santana said. "Thanks for the Colombian beans, by the way. And, from what I can gather, the groceries." Quinn just smiled and made herself some tea. She sat next to Santana on the couch, tucking her toes under her thigh for warmth.

"Is it crazy that I missed your insane toe habit while I was gone?" Santana said. "Because I really did." Quinn just wriggled them under a little further. Santana couldn't bear it any longer, she put her book down and pulled the blonde toward her. Quinn only just managed to put her tea down before she lost her balance, falling on top of Santana.

Santana ran her fingers along the side of Quinn's face, memorizing the shape of her perfect bone structure. "I know I've told you this before, but you really are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Even with bed hair and a Seahawks shirt." She captured Quinn's lips, and allowed herself to really enjoy what she had missed for three weeks.

Quinn responded eagerly, settling her body down comfortably. She let her hands slip under the edge of Santana's shirt and slide across her abdomen. Santana used one of her arms to pull the blonde closer and the other continued to play lightly with her hair. Their kisses grew heated and intense. Quinn's hands crept a little higher, and Santana's a little lower. Quinn's cheeks were pink.

"Before we get too carried away," she said throatily, "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything," Santana said. She let Quinn prop herself up a little.

"The whole time you were gone, I missed you so bad. And I thought about this, what we're doing right now. About when you came home. Because I know we haven't been entirely… physical. Yet."

"Say it Quinn. We're both adults," she teased.

"Fine," she sighed. "We haven't had sex yet. And it's not that I don't want to, because I do, and I did even when you were on the other side of the world. I'm just really… It's been a lot longer than I care to admit."

"I'm just as nervous as you," Santana admitted. "Since Penny, most of my stellar decisions about sex involve using it as a way to get out of an uncomfortable conversation, or situation. You're the first person I can remember wanting to be with because I cared about them. I'm petrified I'm going to do something to stuff this up."

"And I think I'm going to stuff it up because it's been so long at all," Quinn said, half laughing. "We're awesome." Santana just kissed her again.

"So we can take this first time nice and slow," Santana said. "And if it gets too much we can always stop." She ran her hands under Quinn's shirt and up her back. Quinn's eyes lowered to Santana's lips.

"Slow sounds good to me," she said. Her weight shifted again, as she pulled Santana back to her feet. "But I want more space than this, so…" Santana followed her, kissing her the whole time.

Santana let her fingers gently comb through Quinn's hair. The blonde was rested against her shoulder, arm wrapped firmly around Santana's waist. They both had a slight sheen of sweat over them, and were both completely sated. She felt Quinn crane her neck up slightly and kiss under her jaw.

"Confession," Santana said. "I don't think I've been this happy in years." Quinn propped herself up so she could see Santana's eyes.

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," she replied. "And I'm not just talking about the sex. Even just laying here. Feels good. Feels right."

"I know what you mean," Quinn said. "Anything else you plan on doing for the next couple of days?"

"Nope," Santana said. "Oh, I lie. Lucas is coming for dinner tomorrow. I told him I'm interested in leasing the place out."

"And now would be a great time to tell you that I met with a realtor who gave me a stack of listings," Quinn said. "She can take us through whenever we like."

"Sounds good," Santana said. "But not yet. I just wanna lie here a bit, hold my girl. Then throw some jeans on and find somewhere good for breakfast."

"Your girl?" Quinn smiled. "I like the sound of that." She stretched her body out and then curled back into Santana's side. Santana just stared down at the blonde who was half draped over her. Quinn's body fit perfectly next to hers. They were perfect together. Quinn's fingers were brushing against her ribs, creeping higher. Santana squirmed.

"Seriously?" she murmured into the blonde's hair.

"Like I said, a long time," Quinn whispered throatily. Her lips attached to Santana's collarbone.

"Let's move this one to the shower," Santana said. Quinn pushed Santana down the first time she tried to get up, kissing her softly. "Or not."

"No, shower is good," Quinn said, "Just give me minute." Santana grinned as Quinn's hands moved across her skin.


	27. Chapter 27

_Apparently my brain hated this fic for a while. Just could not move, but thanks to everyone who continued reading! Y'all are great._

* * *

They managed a late brunch, sitting in the cool autumn sunshine. Quinn's cheeks turned pink from the cold before long, but she insisted she liked it. Santana took one of her hands and found it to be freezing.

"God, Quinn. Do you have any circulation at all?"

"I'm used to it," Quinn said. "And no, I never really could keep warm. But there's an upside." The waitress bought second cups of coffee to them.

"What kind of upside?" Quinn wrapped her hands firmly around her cup.

"Wrapping cold hands around a hot cup of coffee is one of the best feelings in the world. Like a hot shower after walking home in the snow. Will it snow here soon?"

"Yeah, I think so. Do you have enough winter clothes? I don't know how much it snows in Seattle."

"Only a couple of inches, and not often," Quinn said. "But I'm looking forward to proper snow here. I completely forgot it was Thanksgiving next week."

"Shit, really? Where the hell did that go?"

"England," Quinn said. "You were gone almost a month. What do you normally do for Thanksgiving?"

"Nothing special," Santana said. "I'm not really big on family-type holidays."

"Abuela?"

"Abuela," Santana confirmed. "My parents will come out before Christmas, and I love them, and we'll have a good time. But…"

"It's not the same," Quinn finished. "My mom will be in Spain for Thanksgiving, and Christmas. She met someone."

"Go Judy," Santana said. "What's he like?"

"I like him," Quinn said. "His name is Victor. He's very… gentle. He's a retired state's attorney, now he consults for some firm. Apparently he doesn't need to. Hence Spain. For a month or whatever."

"But Judy's happy?"

"She is," Quinn said. "I spoke to her a few days ago. She said to say hello. I told her about us. She's happy for us. A little surprised, after all these years etcetera etcetera, but happy."

"So should we do a Thanksgiving?" Santana asked. "I know Warner doesn't have his kid, and I could ask Lucas. We could call Rachel and the boys."

"That sounds like a fantastic idea," Quinn said. "I'll cook. I'll even let Kurt help if he comes."

"Sweet," Santana said. "So, I'll call around and see if everyone's free." She grinned at Quinn.

"What?"

"We're that couple, aren't we? We've jumped right into coupledom."

"Yeah, but I don't really care," Quinn said. "Because the jump was like six years long. Now hurry up and finish your coffee, we should go shopping. I'm going to need a heavier coat and some decent winter boots." Santana obliged and they spent the afternoon hand in hand in the mall, both of them buying whatever they felt like. They stopped past a supermarket on the way home and picked up some groceries for the next few days, and then made it back to the apartment as evening began to set in.

They made Mexican food together in sweats and t-shirts, and Santana couldn't help but smile from ear to ear. This was what she'd been missing, with Alana, with Jessie before that, and Tess. It's more than what she'd expected to feel. She was surprised that it was something simple like cooking dinner together and feeling Quinn's hand on the small of her back as she leaned past her to grab a spoon.

"You've got a look," Quinn said. She wiped some hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. "What's up?"

"I'm just trying to take a moment and remember the last time I was this happy," she said. "And I don't remember it. It's all you." She kissed her softly. "It's not by accident that I feel at home with you, I think. The more I feel like this, the more I feel like we were probably destined be together all along."

"You really are a big, squishy romantic deep down, aren't you?" Quinn said. "For the record, I'm happy too. Deliriously so." They kissed again. Dinner was ready, and they ate sitting as close together as practically possible. After dinner, Quinn excused herself to check in with her editor about book four. Santana figured she'd call Rachel and the boys and see if they were free for Thanksgiving. Rachel picked up on the first ring.

"Santana!" she exclaimed. "How are you?"

"I'm doing good, Rach. I was in London for a few weeks, but home and happy now."

"Good to hear. I'm assuming Quinn has a lot to do with that?" she enquired.

"You'd be right," Santana said. "Why didn't anyone tell me we belonged together back then? Would have saved a hell of a lot of time."

"Just because you belong together now, it doesn't mean you would have worked back then," Rachel said. "Think about it. Right people, wrong time. Now it is the right time. How's it going?"

"I'm happier now than I have been in forever," Santana said. "I feel like this is it. Already, I know. But twenty years, seven years, a few weeks, whatever."

"Seven years?"

"That's a story I should tell you sometime," Santana said. "Which begs the question, what are you doing for Thanksgiving? Quinn and I are going to have a thing. I was going to ask you, the boys, Warner and Lucas from the office."

"Warner is the cutie with the kid?" Rachel asked. "And Lucas is-"

"My new assistant," Santana said. "And careful with Warner, I don't know if I entirely trust your tone."

"Well, I'm in. And it might be good to get Blaine out of New York, he's starting to get anxious about Godot. Oh yeah, it opens on the sixth of December."

"Sweet," Santana said. "I'll be there. And I'm glad you're coming. Now, I gotta go, I need to call Blaine." She hung up and dialed his number.

"Blaine Anderson," he said succinctly.

"Dude, if you checked your caller ID, you would have answered that completely differently," she said. "What's up?"

"Not much," he replied. "Rehearsals. For both of us."

"I was just talking to the divine Miss Berry," she said sarcastically, playing on their inside joke, "And I convinced her to come out for Thanksgiving. Quinn's going to cook, you guys should come down. Just a few people, nothing wicked huge."

"I don't know, I have rehearsals." Santana could hear a muffled Kurt discussing it with Blaine, before a brief wrestle. Kurt was now on the phone.

"Blaine is freaking out. We'll be there, don't listen to him."

"Thanks, Kurt. Quinn even said she'll let you help cook," she said.

"It'll be good to see you out of New York. In your natural habitat or whatever," he said. "And it'll be good to get Blaine out of the city. He's starting to recite Godot in his sleep."

"Well, for the record, Quinn and I will be there for opening night," Santana said. "Tell Anderson I miss his guts. I'll see you next week." She went looking for Quinn in the study.

"Rachel and the boys are in," she said. "I'll ask Lucas tomorrow when he comes for dinner, and I'll text Warner. I'm pretty sure he has Jermaine for Christmas, so the ex has him for Thanksgiving."

"My agent just sent me covers for book four," Quinn said. "They want it on shelves by December 13, to make the most of the Christmas rush."

"That's fast," Santana said. "But smart marketing."

"Want to help me decide?" she said. Santana came around behind her where there were four mocked up book covers on her laptop screen. Quinn pointed at one. "I like this one." It was a girl in the hallway at school, everyone in bright color, except she had been reduced to a transparent black and white image.

"I think that given the content of the book, it's probably most appropriate," Santana said. "Like this one on the end, it's kind of festive for such a heavy topic."

"Right? It's not a circus," Quinn said. She replied to the email with her selection. "All done."

"What does a book launch normally entail for you?"

"I'll have to be in Seattle that weekend," Quinn said. "We have an agreement that all my launches will be at the same store, Barnes and Noble Downtown. I'll do a reading about eleven, then sign books from one til six. Then the Sunday I'll do Northgate, just a signing. And my agent will be emailing me with a list of places we should be doing signings at." She sighed. "I kind of wanted a relaxed Christmas."

"Hey, babe, it's your job," Santana said. "Just like mine sends me to London on four days notice. No biggie." Quinn smiled at her.

"This is why I love you." Santana pressed a light kiss to her neck, and Quinn leaned into her. "One of many reasons."


	28. Chapter 28

Santana answered the door to find Lucas holding a bottle of wine. She showed him in and took the bottle. Quinn appeared and smiled at him. "Hi Lucas."

"Hi," he said. "How are you?"

"Cold," she said. "In general. San, take Lucas on the tour while I check on dinner."

"Sure thing boss," she said, winking. "Thanks for the wine, by the way."

"Never show up empty handed," he quoted. "My mama this time. Plus, I noticed every time we had a drink while we were in London yours was red wine."

"Come on," she said. "I'll show you around. I don't think we'll be moving out til after Christmas, but if you like it, I'll let you have it at a good rate." She walked him toward the balcony.

"Are you and Quinn moving into a new place?"

"We're looking for one," she said. "This is my awesome view of the west side of downtown." She showed him through the rest of the apartment, and he asked questions about plumbing, electric usage and how cold it got.

"Quinn's always cold," Santana said, "So don't take her lizard body temperature as gospel. It's pretty normal, it gets kinda chilly once the sun goes down. But the heating is kick ass. And in summer, it's hot, but you don't feel like you're going to melt. Since you're from Texas, you'll be fine."

"I like the place," Lucas said. "It's close to work, close to the El, decent sized… And it means I don't have to look for a place on my own time, so I'm all over it. I'll take it, Santana. We should sit down and talk about rent."

"I called a real estate agent," she said. "She thinks I'm getting ripped off if I give it to you at the rate I want. But your rent shouldn't be more than I was paying on the mortgage when I bought the place, so I'm not going to budge on it."

"I appreciate that," Lucas said. "You're good people, Santana."

"She said something about market pressure, but I don't give a rats. I just want to be able to get it sorted so Quinn and I can find a place of our own." They returned to the kitchen, where Quinn was uncorking the wine and about to serve dinner.

"Santana assures me that you're not a vegetarian," Quinn said.

"I'm a farmboy from Texas," he said. "Meat is what we do."

"Great," she said. "San says you're going to be working with her now?"

"Yeah," he said. "I really like the work, and London was insane, but I feel like we accomplished something good. I'm excited to make it permanent, though I have wondered if it's going to piss the other interns off."

"Don't worry about them," Santana said. "You just keep doing what you're doing, I'll handle the office politics." They sat down to Quinn's roast lamb and vegetables, Lucas remarking that it had been forever since he'd had a home cooked meal that good.

"Thanks," Quinn said. "Cooking helps me jumpstart my creative process."

"And how is your writing going?" he asked. "Santana said something about book four?"

"It's going to come out right in a couple of weeks," Quinn said.

"Smart," Lucas said. "Capitalize on Christmas sales."

"Santana said the same thing," she said. "I've started on book five, but the deadline on that is forever away."

"What are you going to do once you've finished the series?" Lucas asked.

"I don't really know," Quinn said. "Before the books happened I thought about teaching English, and that's still a possibility. But I'm kind of looking forward to not having a deadline."

"You studied English at college?"

"Yeah, I got my masters at Yale." Quinn blushed. She didn't like talking about herself too much, and had always been uncomfortable talking about her own success.

"And you and Santana have known each other since you were kids, right?" he said. "Teenage Santana must have been a real handful." Santana burst out laughing.

"Oh, you have no idea," she said. "You're putting it diplomatically. Quinn, myself and our friend Brittany were known as the Unholy Trinity. Cheerleaders, super popular, real bitches. We were assholes. Well, I was."

"Seriously? I wouldn't have picked it in a million years," he said.

"But you get to a point where you have to change or you'll end up hating yourself forever," Quinn said. "And we did, because we had to. But if I could go back and tell high school me to do it differently, I would."

"Me too," Santana said. She sat back, full and content. "Q, that was rockin like a boss. Who wants coffee?"

"I'll have tea," Quinn said. "Lucas?"

"He'll have black coffee," Santana said, taking their plates.

"You're one of those?" Quinn said. "Is there something in the water at your work that I don't know about?"

"Armed forces," he said. "It's the way things get done. You ever hear an air force solider say anything about G-fuel, they mean coffee." Quinn just rolled her eyes.

Lucas left later, promising to meet with Santana and the real estate agent the following afternoon, and thanking Quinn profusely for dinner. He'd eagerly accepted to attend Thanksgiving, since there wasn't going to be enough time for him to fly home and see his parents. Santana closed the door behind him, and helped Quinn clean up the kitchen.

"Lucas is in for Thanksgiving," Santana said. "And Warner texted earlier, he's in too."

"Lucas is very sweet," Quinn said. "Very proper. We should see if we can get him and Rachel together." Santana burst out laughing.

"Oh, Q, I didn't tell you – Lucas is gay," she said. "It's why he didn't stay in the air force. He was honorably discharged, but wasn't happy to stay in the air force knowing how the government feels about don't ask, don't tell."

"So the Rachel thing is off the cards," Quinn said.

"Plus, subjecting an innocent man to Rachel's insanity like that is just plain cruel." She closed the dishwasher. "I like Lucas. He works his ass off, and he's smart. Most of the others we got this round are kind of arrogant, whereas he's more quietly confident that he can handle it."

"I'm a fan of anyone who makes your day easier," Quinn said, kissing her softly. Santana didn't protest when the blonde's cold hands crept under the back of her shirt, just smiled into the kiss and pulled her closer.


	29. Chapter 29

The day before Thanksgiving, Quinn and Santana split a cab to Santana's office. Santana had a little bit of work she wanted to push out of the way so she could enjoy the holiday, and Quinn had some shopping to take care of before she met Rachel, Blaine and Kurt at the airport later on. The office hadn't been too bad lately, Santana's first two days back she'd pushed through Lucas's employment contract and they'd reported on the outstanding work from London. She'd promised Lucas that she'd be available to him to help out as he got settled in. The news that Lucas had been hired already put a couple of the interns' noses out of joint, which was quickly remedied by a meeting between Warner, Santana and the interns. There were a number of rumors floating around that Santana was not happy with. She and Warner figured it was probably a good time to discuss some issues.

"Okay, we're getting the general feedback that not everyone is pleased with our decision to hire Lucas Patterson before the internship period expires," Warner said. "I'm not even going to ask for feedback on the matter, because it's got nothing to do with any of you. He was delivering exceptional work and was rewarded accordingly."

"And I heard one particularly disturbing rumor," Santana said, "That I hired him because I have to play favorites with the gay guy. If I find out where this rumor came from, so help me god, you're out of here. To suggest that I would be nothing but professional in this aspect of my job is incredibly insulting. It's not just questioning my integrity, but the integrity of the work that we do here."

"Santana is right to be pissed," Warner said. "She didn't get this far by playing favorites and getting personal. Caulfield & Mellor both trust her implicitly, and if it came to her or all of you, they'd still pick her."

"Here's the final word on Lucas," Santana said. "I didn't make the decision to hire him. John Caulfield made that call, and if any of you would like to discuss it with him, make sure you book a late appointment and let Debbie know when it is so I have time to make popcorn, because that is a show I wouldn't want to miss. And for the record, Lucas was here working while you guys were sleeping, and while we were in London he didn't complain about fourteen hour days six days a week. So yeah, he impressed us in a big way."

"Which brings us to the point of this meeting," Warner said. "There are nine of you left. Currently, three of you are showing potential hire value. We won't say which. But that means we expect more. There are a few things that have been reported to be generally lacking across the board."

"Follow through," Santana said. "Is the number one issue. If you start a task, finish it. Because leaving ten minutes work til tomorrow may not sound like a big deal, but it snowballs, and then the admin department call us when a file isn't finished, and yesterday Warner spent three hours doing little bits of crap that would have only taken a few minutes to finish on the day." There was a knock on the door.

"Santana, honey, John Caulfield wants a meeting," Debbie said.

"I can take care of this," Warner said. Santana followed Debbie out of the conference room and took the elevator to John's floor. She smiled at his secretary and she waved her through.

"Santana, come in," he said. She sat down, and he got up and closed the door. "How are things?"

"Uh, well, Warner and I were just giving the interns a motivational pep talk," she said.

"Which means you were kicking their asses," he said, with a smile.

"Some issues needed addressing," Santana said. "Nothing of intense concern."

"I have heard some chatter around Lucas Patterson," John said. "All of which I firmly rebuffed. And if I find out who started this gay solidarity rumor, I'm canning them."

"I hadn't realized the rumor had spread so far," Santana said. "But I appreciate that. I just finished telling the interns the same thing."

"I want to talk to you about Mahoney," Caulfield said. "More specifically, Mahoney's job, and how you would feel about stepping up as chief of advertising and marketing operations." Santana was surprised to say the least.

"Seriously?" she said. "I got the impression Warner was next in line?"

"Warner is next in line after you," John said. "Plus I have something different in mind for him down the track a little."

"Well, I'm honored that you would ask me," Santana said. "But operations is already short handed."

"We're getting two bodies from the London office," John said. "They'll be here two weeks from Monday. One is temporary, the other is long term. I basically called and told them that after they dropped the ball so badly handing Mahoney's files when he wasn't there, they owed us."

"So I'm assuming the role would look much the same, then?"

"Not quite," he replied. "You're a hell of a negotiator and I don't really want to lose that. So it'll be you via video, and someone else in person, another body to help with the paperwork, and the London trips."

"London," Santana said. "How frequently was Mahoney there?"

"Not frequently enough," John said. "And I'm pulling back on my stay as well, if I can. It'll probably end up being one month in three." Santana immediately thought about leaving Quinn for a month at a time.

"Can I think about it?" Santana said. "Discuss it with Quinn?"

"Quinn? I thought it was Alana."

"Nope, Quinn. Way more serious than Alana ever was," Santana said.

"Sure," John said. "But can I finish telling you about what we're offering?"

"Of course," Santana said.

"Obviously, it's a massive bump in salary. And the company is in the process of purchasing a London property, which will include an apartment for you, if you decide to take the job. We're not stupid, it's a significant portion of your time we're asking you to give up." He outlined some more of the package for her. It was very generous.

"I'll email you a copy of the proposed contract," he said. "Talk it over with Quinn and get back to me after the weekend."

"I will John," Santana said. "And thank you. You'll have my answer as soon as I have it." She left Caulfield's office and went back to her own, dialing Quinn automatically.

"Hey," Quinn said. "I was just thinking about you. What's up?"

"Um, I just got offered a huge promotion," Santana said. "Like, huge."

"Congratulations, honey. Doing what?"

"Chief of my department. I figured I was at least five years away from a job like this. I told Caulfield I wanted to talk it over with you first, because there's less domestic travel, but a whole lot of London."

"How much is a whole lot?"

"Four months of every calendar year," Santana said. "We'll talk about it when I get home, and don't drop the bomb to Berry and the boys yet, okay?"

"I'm so proud of you," Quinn said. "I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Santana sat at her desk for a few moments, comprehending what had just been offered to her, until Debbie interrupted over the intercom.

"Sugar, I'm goin' to that deli place up the street. Want some roast beef sandwiches?"

"Sure," Santana said. "You're a doll." She returned to the conference room where Warner was now on his own.

"Consider the fire under their asses sufficiently lit," he said smugly. He saw the look on Santana's face. "John offered you Mahoney's job. About time."

"Man, I thought you were up for that," Santana said. "I'm stunned."

"Please," Warner said. "We all know that in this partnership, I'm the brains and you're the brawn. I'm strategy and you're operations. It's how we work. I've made it clear to both of the old guys that strategy is where I want to end up. You taking the job?"

"I feel like I'd be crazy not to," Santana said. "But I'm going to talk it over with Quinn first."

"Good idea."

"Oh, and by the way, you can come over anytime after like eleven tomorrow," Santana said. "Rachel and the boys are no doubt going to get me up at some ungodly hour."

"Looking forward to it," Warner said. "You aren't cooking, are you?"

"God no," Santana said. "Quinn is. She gets her mojo from Food Network. I don't want to poison everyone. Lucas coming?"

"Yep," Santana said. "I'll see you tomorrow then." Santana went back to her office, pulled a file from the stack on her desk and waited for Debbie to return with lunch.


	30. Chapter 30

_This one isn't very long, it was the last thing I wrote before I went in for surgery on my godforsaken sinuses. I'm recuperating okay, but pain meds make it a little hard to concentrate, even if they are delightful. I'm not abandoning this, I swear!_

* * *

Santana managed to leave work at a reasonable hour and found Quinn in the kitchen chopping vegetables.

"Babe, Thanksgiving is tomorrow," Santana teased. She kissed her cheek.

"Just preparing everything I can get away with today, so I don't have to spend all day tomorrow worrying," Quinn said. She put her knife in the sink and washed her hands. "Rachel and the boys are staying at The James. They want to have a quote-unquote light dinner at seven thirty."

"Anywhere special?"

"No," Quinn said, "Just the restaurant at the hotel. It doesn't leave you much time, though." Santana sighed as the blonde kissed her jawline.

"I'll be quick," Santana said.

"In a minute," Quinn murmured into her neck. "Because I missed you, and that skirt and heels combo you have on…"

"You like this outfit?" Santana teased. Quinn just fixed her lips to Santana's in response until the brunette was breathless. "Damn, I'll remember this one if it makes you do that."

"Go shower," Quinn said, pecking her lips. "I'll clean up and change."

"Okay," Santana said, "But don't you think I'm not going to finish this later."

"I sincerely hope you will," Quinn said. "And I want to hear about this promotion, too."

Santana showered and threw on something suitable for dinner with her friends, and found Quinn checking her email in what was now becoming her office. Santana had relinquished the space without hesitation, she barely used it, and Quinn needed somewhere she could spread out all of her work. She'd moved some things around, and had already informed Santana she needed a bigger desk, or a second one.

"I'm ready babe," Santana said. "Anything exciting?"

"Not really. Just a tentative schedule for the launch date and signings for book four," Quinn said. "We'll check it out after Thanksgiving."

"While you've got it open," Santana said, leaning over and signing into her personal email account. "I emailed myself the paperwork for my job offer, since I promised you I wouldn't bring my work laptop home over Thanksgiving." She downloaded it. Quinn called a cab as Santana printed it off.

"Do all your employment contracts have a million pages?" she asked.

"Yeah," Santana said. They went into the hall and Santana helped Quinn get her coat on. The weather had gotten colder quite abruptly, and Quinn lamented that she generally had a few more aches and pains throughout the colder seasons.

Dinner was, thankfully, a light affair, none of them wanting to ruin a full day of food tomorrow. Blaine was looking just a little stressed, but Kurt said that this was the most relaxed he'd been in weeks. His play opened the following Saturday, and he'd made them all promise to be there.

"You know we will," Santana said. "I can swing a Saturday-Sunday visit."

"And the Friday after, book four comes out," Quinn said. "I have to be in Seattle Thursday, and I gotta be there for a week. Which reminds me, I should be getting advance copies next week. You guys want one?"

"What do you normally do with them?" Blaine asked.

"Nothing, just wait til it's been released and then donate them to public libraries," Quinn said. "I send one to my mom and one to Michelle, since she's the reason I even started writing in the first place."

"Count me in," Blaine said. "I like how you write."

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Kurt asked Quinn. "I'm happy to be your second in command if you need some help. Because Lord knows Santana would sooner burn the kitchen down." They laughed.

"Hey," Santana interjected. "I can cook the basics. When did that equate to not being able to cook at all?"

"They're just teasing," Quinn said.

"Besides," Kurt said, "If we're going to talk about not cooking, we need to be talking about Rachel."

"I don't care," Rachel said. "I can't cook and I know it. That's why it helps to be nice to delivery drivers and takeout staff." She checked her watch. "Guys we might need to call it. Getting late."

Quinn and Santana left them at the hotel and caught a cab back to their place, content to sit in the backseat quietly, with Santana's arm around Quinn. They didn't feel the need to say anything except to thank the cab driver until they got inside. Santana hung their coats up and Quinn put the jug on for her nightly pre-bed cup of tea.

"Do you want one?" she asked Santana.

"No, thanks," Santana said. "I'm going to go change."

"Wanna tell me about your new job?" Quinn said.

"It's not my job yet," Santana said. "But we can talk about it." She swung past the study and picked up the paperwork off the printer. Quinn was waiting on the couch with her cup of tea, with her legs curled up underneath her.

"So, it's essentially Mahoney's old job, but restructured a little bit," Santana said. "Mahoney was big on paperwork and got John Caulfield to handle most of his contact stuff in London. But John would prefer if I did more of the contact in London, and get someone to help take care of the paperwork. He wants to fly to London less, he misses the kids."

"Didn't you tell me before that you guys didn't have enough people in your department as it is?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah, but we just hired Lucas and we're getting two more from the London office," Santana said. "And the extra person for my paperwork would probably come from admin, not operations."

"I'm happy for you to do whatever you like," Quinn said, "I just don't want you to overwork yourself, or sign up for something you're not happy doing. And you said you'd have to spend four months in London every year?"

"One month per quarter," Santana said. "Which is why I wanted to talk to you. Because that's a lot of time away, and I could barely be apart from you for three weeks. But, John also said that they're in the process of buying a London property for me to live in while I'm there."

"What? They're buying you a flat in London?"

"Not me specifically, just whoever is doing my role. Says somewhere in here that there needs to be one for me, and a couple other people who fly over there heaps. But that means that if I go to London for a month, you could come with me, if you wanted to," Santana said. "But I don't want to pressure you."

"You think that offering me a place to stay in London rent free for four months a year is pressure?" Quinn said. "Um, that's not pressure. I told you I fell in love when I went over there a few years ago."

"I'm glad you feel like that," Santana said. "Because they really, really want to make it worth my while." She found the page with her salary on it.

"Sweet Jesus," Quinn said. "Is that a typo?"

"Part of me thinks it isn't right to agree I'm worth that much money," Santana said in agreement.

"But can we talk about the most important question?" Quinn asked. "Is this job something that you want to do?"

"It is," Santana said. "It's something I thought I'd have to wait years to do, and now it's here. It's a bit crazy."

"If it's what you want, take it," Quinn said. "I'm happy if you're happy. If that's shoveling snow off sidewalks or earning an almost obscene amount of money schmoozing people in London, I don't care. I can write anywhere, and signings and meetings aren't month long affairs for me."

"So I'll take it then," Santana said.

"Congratulations, chief," Quinn said. "I'm really proud of you. You work your ass off for those guys and for what it's worth, I think you're worth more than that much."

"How'd I end up with a girlfriend like you?" Santana said. She kissed Quinn softly. Quinn put her teacup down and pulled Santana toward her.

"I'm slumming," Quinn joked. "Kidding. It's because you have the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known."

"And I'm smoking hot," Santana said.

"Definitely smoking hot," Quinn agreed, kissing her hard. "Now, I believe I started something earlier that you promised to finish…"


	31. Chapter 31

_Haven't abandoned this story, I swear! Been on vacation for a while, and let me just say, the Pacific Islands are gorgeous but wi-fi is a bitch! I'm now in Darwin with some folks I met in a pub, and Monday the BFF and I are continuing on to Canada. Updates will be patchy til I get home, which is not fixed yet because of the whole extended holiday deal. _

* * *

Santana groaned as the alarm went off. Quinn smiled at her obvious dislike of the sound and snuggled in to her.

"I can't reach the alarm," Quinn said. "So you either have to roll over or let it go off for a bit longer." Santana just sighed and ventured an arm out toward it and smacked it.

"It feels cold out there," she mumbled.

"Well," Quinn said, "Neither of us are wearing pajamas. And we weren't so worried about that last night."

"I guess we could just stay in bed forever," Santana said, her hand finding the curve of Quinn's side. The blonde leaned in and kissed her softly.

"And if we didn't have a bunch of people coming over in a few hours, I would totally be on board with that," she said. "I'm going to shower and hit the kitchen. If you want, you can sleep in a little longer."

"No, that's cool," Santana pouted. "Bed's more fun when you're in it with me." Quinn got up and Santana just sat up and watched her girlfriend move nimbly about the room, picking up their clothes from last night. She half wanted to get up and help, but she was enjoying the sight more. A lot more.

"Is it is cold as I think it is?" Santana said, eyes following the bare legs.

"Yep," Quinn said.

"Then I think you should get back into bed," she said firmly. "You know, in the interest of health or whatever."

"Oh, really?" Quinn said, biting her lip.

"Definitely," Santana said. Quinn stood by the edge of the bed.

"I'll strike you a deal," she said. "I'll come back to bed but you have to swear that you'll help me in the kitchen until Kurt gets here."

"If you come back to bed," Santana said, "I will do whatever you want, no questions asked." She held her hand out. Quinn pulled the blanket back again and slid into the bed, smiling as Santana wrapped her arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

The second time Quinn got out of bed, she headed straight for the bathroom. Santana put a robe on and brewed coffee as Quinn showered. By the time Quinn was done it had finished, so she met her in the bedroom with coffee.

"Your coffee," she said. "Though why you drink it so sweet you'll never know."

"Well, I might take two sugars, but I only drink maybe two cups a day max," Quinn retorted. "Whereas you take it black and straight but you drink about fifty cups a day."

"To each their own," Santana said. "I'll get in the shower, then I'll be your willing and able assistant."

"Thanks," Quinn said, kissing her softly. "What time are Rachel and the boys coming over?"

"Not sure," Santana said. "Rachel said something about coming once Kurt was ready, like she's not going to spend five years in front of the mirror herself. Whatever. Won't be long."

Santana barely had time to get dressed before there was knocking at the door. She came out of the bedroom just as Quinn was showing Rachel, Blaine and Kurt in.

"There she is," Blaine said. He hugged her hard. "I always forget how much I've missed you until I see you again."

"I missed you, too, Anderson," she said. "Rachel, Kurt." She hugged them both in turn. Quinn was hanging their coats in the closet.

"What do you need me to do in the kitchen?" Santana asked her.

"Oh God," Kurt said. "No, honey. Let me help."

"I made a deal," Santana said. "The specifics of which I won't disclose to you guys, but I told Quinn I would help."

"It's okay," Quinn said. "You can play hostess and help with the cleanup."

"Sweet," Santana said. "Beyond chopping things, I'm not much help, and you did a lot of that yesterday. But washing dishes, heck yeah." She kissed Quinn on the cheek.

"So who else are we expecting?" Blaine asked.

"Warner and Lucas, from my office," Santana said. "Rachel met Warner once. His kid is with his ex wife, so he was going to be alone. And Lucas is a guy we just hired, he's from Texas and doesn't have time to fly home for Thanksgiving, so I asked him to come too."

"Cool," Blaine said. "You know, I'm looking forward to meeting some of your work colleagues."

"Coffee anyone?" Santana offered.

"Got decaf?" Rachel asked.

"No," Santana said.

"Yeah, we do," Quinn said. "I picked some up because I know Kurt and Rachel prefer decaf."

"And I prefer the both of them to drink decaf, too," Blaine said. Santana laughed.

"Decaf for Rachel. Anderson? Kurt?"

"I'll take a long black," Blaine said.

"Kurt, we have tea," Quinn said. "Earl Grey, English Breakfast, green, chamomile-"

"Wait, how much tea do we own?" Santana asked. "I guess, you do drink it all the time."

"I'll take a green tea," Kurt said.

"Me, too," Quinn said. "Thanks."

Santana busied herself as Kurt and Quinn laid out some snacks to tide everyone over until dinner. They returned to the kitchen and quietly set about mastering the day's cooking.

"Hey, Blaine, do you ever cook? Or is that a Kurt only domain?" Santana asked, once she finished making tea and coffee.

"Kurt's very protective of his kitchen," Rachel said.

"I can handle breakfast, but after that, I'm more than happy to let him take the reins. It's not that I can't cook, but I figure it makes him happy and the food he dishes up kicks my cooking's ass." They watched Quinn and Kurt for a moment before moving across to the living room.

"So the you and Quinn thing seems to be going pretty well," Rachel said, flopping down into the couch next to Santana. "You're all domesticated and what not."

"It really is," Santana said. "This is easily the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"The two of you have that look," Blaine agreed.

"Well, I should hope so," Rachel said. "San said something about seven years last time we talked."

"Seven years?" Blaine asked.

"There was a thing seven years ago. Right around the time we stopped talking," Santana said. "It was the first time we sort of knew, you know?"

"Thing?" Rachel said.

"I kinda kissed her. And by kinda I mean totally did," Santana admitted. "But that's all you're getting."

"And now you're fully in?" Rachel asked. "Like, forever in?"

"We're getting a place together, so yeah," Santana said. "I'm going to lease this one to Lucas."

"Moving in together so soon?" Blaine asked. "You couldn't even say the word move to Alana without freaking out."

"I know, right?" Santana said. "But Quinn and I, we know everything there is to know about each other. And she wanted to move out here so we didn't have to do the travel thing, and I didn't want her to move into my place, because it's _my_ place. All my crap. So we're going to get a new one."

"Scared?" Blaine asked.

"Not even a little bit," Santana said. "And that's how I know it's the right thing." Rachel surprised her by hugging her.

"I'm happy for you guys," she said. "The both of you have had enough drama."

There was a knock on the door, and Santana went to find out who it was. She found Warner on the other side with a bakery box.

"Warner, did Debbie tell you my weakness is pastry?" Santana asked, showing him in.

"Please, who do you think told her?" he said. "I brought pie. It's peach and pecan." Quinn appeared next to Santana, and allowed herself to be kissed on the cheek by Warner. "Quinn, thanks for cooking, I was going to be sandwiching otherwise."

"Thanks for the pie," she said. "It smells unreal." Quinn took it back into the kitchen and Warner followed Santana through to the kitchen where he met Kurt, and then into the living room.

"Warner, you remember Rachel," she said. "And this is Blaine."

"Rachel, nice to see you again. Blaine, how is Godot going?" he asked Blaine. Santana had mentioned it to him once, and Warner had an uncanny way of remembering things about people.

"I'm ready for it to open already," Blaine said. "The longer it takes, the more nervous I get." There was another knock on the door, so Santana excused herself.

"Lucas, glad you made it. Come in, meet everyone else." They did the same detour to the kitchen to drop off the red wine Lucas brought and so he could meet Kurt. Then he met Rachel and Blaine, and Santana disappeared into the kitchen to get Warner some water.

"Nice to meet you guys," Lucas said. "And thanks for letting me crash your Thanksgiving."

"Is your mom upset that you couldn't go home?" Santana asked.

"I swore if I had to murder someone to make it home for Christmas, I would," Lucas said. "So she's okay."

"I love that week," Warner said. "The one whole week of the year where we don't do anything except check our emails from home." The week between Christmas and New Year, Caulfield & Mellor was closed, and every single person who worked there loved it. Santana returned and sat down on the edge of the couch next to Warner. He made a move to let her sit down, but she stopped him.

"I see me getting up and down a lot," Santana said. "By the way, you guys can put the football on or whatever."

"Awesome," Lucas and Warner said simultaneously. Blaine smiled.

"Ah, I'm not the only football fan here," he said. "Finally." Warner leaned over to Santana and spoke softly so nobody else could hear.

"So, are you taking Mahoney's job?"

"Sure am," Santana said. "Quinn and I talked it out, and she was all for it. She said she'd even come with me to London when she could."

"That's great," Warner said.

"What are you guys whispering about?" Rachel asked. Santana sighed and figured she may as well tell her friends the news.

"Uh, kinda big news. I got offered a promotion at work," she said. "Chief of Advertising and Marketing Operations. And tomorrow, I'm taking the job." Blaine almost immediately crashed into her for a hug, followed by Rachel.

"Wow, they offered you Mahoney's job?" Lucas said. "Now you're not just my boss, you're like _the _boss. Congratulations."

"Is it too early for a celebratory drink?" Rachel asked. "Let's open a bottle and fill Kurt in." She went into the kitchen and came back with Quinn, Kurt, a bottle, and a stack of glasses. Kurt hugged Santana and Warner began filling glasses.

"To Santana," he said, "One of the hardest working people I've ever met, who will now be the most terrifying and, I'm sure, successful department chief that we've ever had. You earned this. Congratulations." Everyone toasted, and Quinn kissed Santana.

"I'm glad you told them all," she said. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She squeezed Quinn's hand and let her go back to the kitchen with Kurt. Blaine turned the television on, and she soon found Rachel on the other side of her.

"So," Rachel said. "Since all the boys are watching football, should we see if the other two need a hand? Set the table or something?"

"That's not a bad idea," Santana said. "There's football on all god damn day." They went into the kitchen where Kurt and Quinn were discussing salad dressings with great intensity.

"Hey babe," Santana said. "Do you want Rach and I to set the table? Or anything else?"

"That'd be good," Quinn said. "We're almost under control here, then there'll be a lot of waiting and basting." Santana and Rachel set the table and by the time they'd finished Quinn and Kurt were leaving the kitchen, waiting for the turkey. The phone rang and Quinn answered, having a brief conversation with whoever it was on the other end.

"San, it's your mom," she said.

"Hey mami," she said, taking the phone. Quinn joined everyone else in the living room. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"You too," she said. "How is everyone?"

"Really good," Santana said. "We've got a full house. Blaine, Kurt, Rachel, Warner and one of our new employees, Lucas."

"Your father and I are going to come out and see you," her mother said. "When suits you?"

"Well," Santana said, "Probably anytime during the week rather than weekends. One weekend Quinn and I are going to New York for Blaine's opening night, and the next Quinn's book is out."

"How about three Mondays from now, then? We'll do a Monday to Wednesday."

"That's a deal," Santana said. "Call me when you've booked flights."

"Will do, mija. What else is new?"

"I do have exciting news," Santana said. "I got offered a huge promotion at work. They're making me Chief of Operations."

"Really!?" her mother said. "Mija, that's wonderful! We'll go out when we come up, celebrate properly. I'll tell your dad when he gets home."

"He's not home?" Santana was confused.

"He went to check on a patient," her mother said. "Emergency case from last night. It's okay, sweetie, he called a moment ago and said he was leaving. Speaking of which, I should probably get back to the family."

"Tell them all that Quinn and I say hi," Santana said. "And I'll talk to you soon. Love you mami."

"Love you, too. " She joined everyone else in the living room. Quinn was engrossed in the football game with the boys. Kurt and Rachel were off to the side, and Santana sat toward them, since she wasn't really interested in football. Baseball, she could handle. Football, not so much.

"How is your mom?" Rachel asked.

"She sounds good," Santana said. "She's coming out here before Christmas."

"And how did she take the news about you and Quinn?" Kurt asked. "I bet that was a hell of a conversation." Santana took a drink of her wine.

"It wasn't that bad," Santana said. "It was a weird one to start. I called her when I found out I was going to London. She asked how Alana was, and I told her that we'd broken up."

"You never really seemed that happy with her," Rachel said. "You'd cringe every time your phone went off. Sorry, keep going."

"She asked if I was seeing anyone new, and I said that I was, and it was Quinn. Mom had to ask if I was talking about Quinn Fabray, and I said I was."

"Did she ask where the hell that came from?" Kurt asked.

"I just told her that it hadn't been very long but that it was very serious and that I was happy. She said that as long as I was happy, she was happy. Plus, Q's always been friendly with my folks."

"And how about your mom, Quinn?" Blaine said.

"She's happy for us," Quinn said. "She and Victor want to visit after they get back from Spain. I haven't told my dad, and since I haven't heard from him in about six years, I don't really plan to."

"Well look at all of us little McKinley kids," Kurt said. "Blaine's opening Godot, Rach and I are doing Hairspray, Quinn's a best selling author and Santana is taking the corporate world by storm."

"Speaking of books," Santana said, "Q's next book is due out the week after Godot opens." The conversation quickly turned to Quinn and the others tried to extract any details they could from her about what was in the book.

"I get advance copies Tuesday," Quinn said. "If you wanna know that bad, I'll send it to you."

"Oh, I want to know that bad," Rachel said. "Can I admit to being mad at you at first?"

"Sure," Quinn said. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"I never knew you were into writing Quinn," Blaine said. "I mean, at school you didn't really talk about what you were planning to do at college."

"Well," Quinn was saying, "I was always planning on being an English major. I had a professor who encouraged me to write a few things for the literary review. After school, I didn't write much until my therapist suggested it might help me deal with some stuff. The rest was kind of a blur."

"And now you're all over the best seller lists," Kurt said.

"That reminds me," Quinn said, "I want to send a copy to Emma. John's daughter."

"She'll love that," Warner said. "John tells me she still talks about meeting you at that baseball game." A buzzer went off in the kitchen and Kurt and Quinn got up.

"Turkey time," Kurt said. "Who's hungry?"


	32. Chapter 32

Hi everyone.

I know you we're expecting an update, but this is a note to let you know I'm taking a few weeks off.

Those of you who have been reading for a while know that I've been on vacation with my best friend. We've planned for years to take a massive road trip and just drive around to see what we could find. The reason we planned this vacation, well...

Zoe was diagnosed with AML five and a half years ago. She underwent chemo, and went into remission. Twice. We decided to stop planning and just go for it, while we could. Just recently I added in my authors note that I was waiting for her in an emergency room. That day, a doctor told us that her leukemia was back again. And the prognosis wasn't good, because of her quick relapses previously. The next day, we were sitting on the hood of my car eating ice cream before we cut the trip short and drove home and she told me she was done with chemo. Done with hospitals. And said that she was ready to face death, and knew he wouldn't be long in coming for her.

November 27, my amazingly brave best friend succumbed to her illness, surrounded by her family and friends. And even though I knew it was coming, and I knew it was the end of her suffering, it still feels like I've been sucker punched in the face.

So I do need a little time, obviously. But know that I am one hundred percent not finished here. I will be back, but as you might imagine, I'm not feeling entirely creative right now. I'll try and get new stuff up for Christmas.

Again, I'm not done here. Just grieving.

Rachel.


	33. Chapter 33

Thanksgiving dinner ended late into the evening with Santana finishing up the dishes while the rest of the guests drained the last of the wine. Quinn sent leftovers with Warner and Lucas, and sent Rachel and the boys back in a cab even though Kurt had only had the one glass when they'd toasted Santana's promotion. They promised to meet up for breakfast, after which Santana would have to go into the office for part the day. She put the last dish away as Quinn came into the kitchen.

"Hey," she said, sliding her arms around her from behind. She leaned them both sideways and flicked on the coffee machine. "Thanks for cleaning up."

"It was the very least I could do after you cooked the best meal I've eaten in years," Santana said. "Seriously, it was ridiculously good."

"I saved you enough leftovers to take to work, too," Quinn said. Santana turned around and let her hands settle on Quinn's hips.

"You're building up some serious good karma points here," she said.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I can come up with a way for you to equal things out," Quinn replied. "So you have to go in to work tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but not for long," Santana said. "I just want to get that contract signed off, and see Caulfield about tying up a few files for whoever gets to inherit my mess. Two hours max. Then, your choice. Quiet night in, or night out."

"Always in," Quinn said. "Plus, I'll be on the road soon, so the more I'm alone with you, the happier I'll be." Santana's hands pulled Quinn in a little closer so she could kiss her.

"I'll come to Seattle for launch," Santana said. "I want to meet all your people."

"I want them to meet you," Quinn said. "We're gonna be busy between now and Christmas, aren't we?"

"Hmmm, a bit. New York for Godot this weekend, Seattle the weekend after, my folks are coming out just before Christmas, and somewhere in there we have to find time to start looking at houses," Santana said. "Though I'd live in a cardboard box if you were there."

"No you wouldn't," Quinn teased. "Where would you plug the coffee machine in?" The coffee Quinn had put on was ready, and Santana grinned.

"You're right." She poured herself a cup of coffee, and they went into the living room. Santana pulled a blanket from a chest under the window.

"Good move," Quinn said. "It got cold this week."

"I reckon it'll snow soon," Santana said, "It feels like the right kind of cold."

"Is that early?"

"Yes and no. Sometimes it can snow in October, sometimes it won't snow til January, you can never really tell. Chicago is a moody little bitch." She threw the blanket over herself and Quinn, using one of about six remotes on the coffee table to turn the stereo on softly.

"Today was fun," Quinn said. "We have great friends."

"Right?" Santana said. "Who would have thought that Rachel and I would end up as friends?"

"Me," Quinn said. "You're kind of similar in some ways. It was only a matter of time til the two of you realized that."

"So tomorrow after we do breakfast with the others, I'll duck in to work. Please tell me we aren't going anywhere near Black Friday sales."

"No way," Quinn said. "They got crazy violent in Seattle sometimes, knowing my luck I'd get trampled to the ground and my back would be trashed forever. Plus, I think we can both afford to shop whenever we like."

"Exactly. So, after work, I'll come home, we can order a crapload of takeout and watch a movie as we go through property listings," Santana said. "I'm sure we both have ideas of what we want in a house."

"That sounds like a plan," Quinn said. She yawned. "Why am I so tired?"

"Because you got up, prepared a massive meal for us and our friends, ate turkey, which makes you sleepy, and only just really sat down to relax," Santana said. She pulled Quinn toward her and the blonde snuggled in to her side. The cd changed on the stereo, and Quinn smiled sleepily as Santana began to sing softly along.

"You still listen to Adele?"

"Hell yes. Woman has a voice that you can't argue with, Q."

"Keep singing," Quinn said. Santana kept singing, and by the end of the second song, her breathing had evened out. Santana stayed there for a while, Quinn sleeping against her, before she decided she should probably get her into bed to save her back.

"Q," she said softly, "Come on, babe. Let's go to bed."

"Nope," Quinn mumbled. "Wanna stay here."

"I know, but you'll be sore in the morning," Santana said. Quinn pouted, but allowed Santana to pull her up and guide her toward the bedroom. She didn't protest when Santana unbuttoned her jeans and pushed her on to the bed.

"Want pants?" Santana said. Quinn shook her head, and just held out a hand to Santana. The brunette kicked her own jeans off and climbed into bed next to her, flicked off the lamp and wrapped an arm around her.

"This is good, too," Quinn mumbled.

"Yeah, it is," Santana whispered. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

The next morning, Santana and Quinn met Rachel, Blaine and Kurt for breakfast at a place nowhere near a shopping center. It was a cold enough morning that Quinn had borrowed one of Santana's thickest jackets, and decided that whilst Santana was at work that afternoon, she'd be shopping online for proper winter clothes.

"It's a different kind of cold," Quinn said to Rachel. "Even when it snowed in Seattle, it was kind of humid, the snow was more slush. Here, it's just damn cold." The café they were eating at was practically empty, the people who worked there looked grateful to have something to do.

"Can you start us by bringing a pot of tea and a pot of coffee to the table?" Blaine asked.

"Milk and sugar?" the man asked.

"Both," Blaine said. By the time he returned with their coffee and tea, they were ready to order. Breakfast lasted a good two and a half hours, but Santana announced that she really did have to get in to work, so she could get home faster. She hugged Rachel and Kurt, was squeezed to death by Blaine, and told them all she'd see them in a week for Blaine's opening night.

"Don't leave on my account, though," she said. "Just because I have to be somewhere, doesn't mean you guys can't turn breakfast into lunch."

"I can stay a while longer," Quinn said. Santana dialed for a cab, and when it pulled up outside, she kissed Quinn on the cheek and left for the office.

The Friday after Thanksgiving was always a weird day at work. People were dressed a lot more casually, since it wasn't really mandatory to be there unless you had something urgent on. Debbie, her secretary, wasn't in, but Priya was.

"Good morning, Santana," she said. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

"Really great," Santana replied. "Yours?"

"Good. Rumor around here is that you're taking over Mahoney's job," she said quietly. "You know what this place is like."

"Well, between you, me and the plant in the corner, I have been offered that position, yes," Santana said. "But you also know that until the memo goes out, nothing is official."

"Of course," Priya said. "Congratulations, though."

"Thanks, Priya. Caulfield here?"

"He is, and he said that he would like to see you when you get in," she said. Santana left her bag in the office and went upstairs to see him straight away.

"Santana, excellent," he said, gesturing for her to sit down. "So, did you talk through the offer with Quinn?"

"I did," Santana replied. "And I'm going to accept the offer. I'm happy, she's happy, we both like London and she can work anywhere in the world."

"I'm glad you're accepting," he said. "Nice work, chief." She and Caulfield had always been friendly, moreso than he was with a lot of the other people at work.

"Thanks for the offer," she said. "Effective date?"

"Monday," he said. "Can you be here for the eight am meeting?"

"Sure."

"I'll announce it to the senior execs then, and the memo will go out at nine. Now, John's secretary is Margaret Bloom, and she's incredibly capable. But she is nearing retirement, and if you'd rather keep Debbie, I can shift Margaret into strategy."

"I adore Debbie," Santana said. "We work really well as a team, so yeah, if I can."

"Of course, that means a salary bump for her, somewhat, but we can make it work," he said. "Call her today and let her know to report to her new office nine am Monday, won't you? I'll leave the paperwork on your desk."

"Sure. Anything else?"

"One more, a less good thing." He pulled a file out of his drawer.

"What's this?"

"This is the personnel file of the employee who started the rumor that you hired Lucas Patterson because he's gay," he said.

"Christ, that didn't take you long."

"Please, you and I both know that all I had to do was ask a couple of the admin staff to keep their ears out," he said. "People like you here, and the rumor pissed them off. Do you want to know who's name is on the file?" Santana looked at the folder. It was about three quarters of an inch thick – not an intern file, not an executive. But it meant the person had been here for over a year, but most likely less than five.

"No," she said. "Are you going to fire them?"

"I did say that," Caulfield said. "But I thought I'd let you make that call." Santana thought for a moment. She could literally kill a career right here.

"Don't fire them," she said. "Reprimand, definitely. And make them put some hours of volunteer work in at Chicago Youth Center."

"I can definitely arrange that," Caulfield said. He put the file away and pulled out an employment contract, the same one Santana had shown to Quinn. He called his secretary, and a moment later one staff member from legal and one from human resources came in.

"Brady, Christine, nothing too extraordinary. Employment offer." They knew the drill, and Brady from human resources read through the contract as Santana listened and signed as required. Christine from legal signed as the witness, and John signed last as partner. The whole thing took around forty five minutes.

Santana headed back to her office and tidied up the few things that would inevitably be left for whoever took her office. She called Debbie at home, and let her know that she had also been promoted. The older woman had thanked her profusely, saying that the extra money would help her save for a trip home to see her family. She stuck her head in to see how many of the interns were working and saw that three were still MIA.

"Where are the other three?" Santana asked the nearest intern, a young woman named Megan.

"Jordan is getting lunch, Cynthia and Robert never showed," she said quietly. Santana filed that away to bring up with Warner, and chatted with Megan for a few moments about their respective thanksgivings. Then she closed her old office door, not locking it, and leaving the keys in Debbie's desk. She moved a box of the stuff she still needed into what would be her new office, and then decided to call it a day.

Quinn was waiting at home, drinking tea on the couch and shopping online. Santana shed her coat and wrapped her arms around her from behind, kissing her neck. She looked up at the screen to see what Quinn was buying.

"Ooh, that's cute," she said, pointing at a coat on the screen. "Do they have it in a charcoal?"

"We're supposed to be shopping for me," Quinn fake-pouted. "And yes. Want me to get one in your size?"

"Yeah. Let me make some coffee, I'm all yours for the evening."

"Oh? Well, once I'm done here, I'm planning on a shower, then we can order some Indian, and start shopping for us," Quinn said. "Unless you have a different plan."

"Babe," Santana said, "You are my plan. Now, what do you have left to buy?"

"Boots," Quinn replied. "Where should I be buying them from?" Santana dropped down onto the couch, and Quinn scooted closer so Santana could see the screen as she began to list off different places she'd bought good boots.


End file.
